Blackbird Aria
by Glass.Paradox
Summary: AU There was more than one baby left on a doorstep that night. One ripple in the pond, one flap of a butterfly's wings will alter the course of history and the Second War. Identity, politics, family, and sarcasm. Shippings TBA. 1st in the Blackbird Suite.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction, so it has not been endorsed by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Publishing, Warner Bros. I/We do not earn any money from this work or in any way claim ownership of Harry Potter. If we did, the last book would have been VERY different.

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**Prologue**

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I love you. No regrets, no worries, because you were worth everything... Be safe, my love. Find happiness. And when the time comes, I will be waiting by the banks of the river of oblivion._

_-Merenwen_

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Run.

Her faltering, struggling breath panted the words with each push of her aching lungs.

Run faster.

The steam of her breath as it hit the night air seemed to his the words as it dissipated into the sky.

Run harder.

Rivulets of sweat dripped down her back, tracing the words in salty paths across her skin.

Run farther.

The words were echoed in the cadence of feet hitting pavement, an incessant, drumming chant that surrounded her as she pushed forward through the dim light.

Run away.

Run away.

Run away.

She ran, arms pumping, legs straining, soles throbbing more with each and every step. She forced herself to run, to run for her forfeit life. To run faster, run harder, run farther, in the hope that the little life she'd left behind, the little life she'd hidden away, the little life she would – no, had – willingly given her life for. It was this thought that gave her the fortitude to go on: she was lost, she had lost hope. But _her child_ – she could live just a little longer, somehow find the energy to take just one more step, turn just one more corner, if it meant that she could lead these heartless killers a single step or a single corner farther from her flesh and blood.

A sharp jolt of pain laced up her side. Gasping, she staggered into a wall, a hand on the mottled burn running across her abdomen. _No_,her mind ordered. _No, no, keep going!_ She drew a rasping breath, stumbling on through the alley. _Another step, just one more. Now another, another. Just a little farther. Just one more step._ She took another step, and stopped.

As she backed away, she slipped on the slick walk, falling to her knees. When had it started raining? She hadn't noticed. Odd, how she'd missed that, but now seemed to see every detail in the minutest focus – every pockmark and discoloration on the aged brick wall, how each raindrop broke into twelve smaller droplets as it hit the earth, the billowing black cloaks of the two men, the sadistic glee arcing in their eyes as they advanced.

One leaned down to her. "Shhh… sweetheart. We've cordoned off the area. The Muggles can't hear us - No one's coming for you." He smiled – a twisted curving of his thin lips.

She hadn't thought her heart could speed up any further, but it did.

The other scowled. "Don't mess around, Smith. Make sure it's really her." His voice was colder, and he spoke with authority.

Mirroring the scowl, Smith leered at the woman sprawled against the wall. "Merenwen Erling?" He turned back, "I'm sure this is her. She's even prettier than in the picture." His finger traced her jaw line.

"Don't forget the objective."

"Yes, sir." He looked into her eyes, whispering, "Don't worry, darling. We're only supposed to kill you."

She spat in his face.

"Bitch," he yelped. The back of his hand smashed against her cheek, and her head met the wall with a resounding crash. Merenwen whimpered, no longer caring how pathetic it sounded. Curling into a ball, she tried to shield herself from the ensuing kicks, to her kidneys, her back, her face. The blood running from her nose mixed from the blood she coughed.

"Enough," the cold one demanded. He pointed his wand at the gasping woman. "We're here to leave a message, nothing more." A shriek of agony and despair tore from her throat as she felt skin, muscle, bone torn apart, leaving a claret-weeping crimson signature engraved across her chest. The mark of the serpent, in a grotesque circle, eating its own tail.

She looked lost, almost confused, as she gazed at the gushing, sanguine wound. Her eyes rose to meet theirs, carrying both reproach and defiance. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes slipped shut, almost sleepily.

"My love…," Merenwen breathed. "My love, be…"

The street was silent, even the patter of the rain seeming to cease for just a moment, in grief and respect for the blood pooling on the cement.

"Merenwen?" The voice came from the darkness, a question, a call. The voice came closer. "Merenwen, darling? Merenwen!" There were hints of panic.

"Merenwen?" Discovery.

"Merenwen." Disbelief.

"Merenwen!" Despair.

A single tear fell from each eye, one for sorrow, one for loss. He closed his lover's eyes, face twisted with anger, hate, madness. He swept away into the darkness.

He found them easily. They hadn't the ability to hide – not from him. Screams pierced the night air, over and over again, blending with relentless curses and unheeded pleas for mercy, a discordant medley of pain marked by the flash of red curses.

Miles away, a baby cried.

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A/N: Thanks for reading :D. If you like it, please review.

~Echo + Kibou


	2. Chapter 1: Different

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR.

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**Chapter 1- Different**

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_ I don't remember the moment I first realized I was different. You'd think it'd be something you'd never be able to forget, that you'd forever recall the time you're hit by that sudden stroke of insight that first shows you're not quite the same as the rest. But like with so many other epiphanies – the day you realize you will die, or that the world can be a bitter place– I do not. Maybe I slowly noticed that my family didn't have my dark hair or love for snow, but then, they never made a secret of my adoption. Maybe it was the day I tried to dance in a flame with Fleur but, instead of twining around me in gentle ribbons, it blistered my bare feet. Maybe it was when I first called the wind. Maybe I've always known – but it's been long since I mourned it. I am not my sisters, or my schoolmates; I am myself._

_And why would I want to be anyone else?_

_- Ariane_

* * *

Ariane yawned and looked up at the cloudless September sky. She smiled, leaning back against the tower and letting the salty sea breeze drift across her face.

"I thought you'd be up here." An amused, bell-like voice cut into her daydream. "_Merle, _I just heard. André decided not try for the Tournament. With Isabella out, and now him…"

"How was the Charms test, _cherie_?" Ari asked her sister.

"Simple, of course," Fleur said, waving her hand dismissively. "Don't try to change the subject."

"I wasn't trying to. But it's not all that important, you were far more likely to be chosen than André. Did Madame- " She stopped. Fleur was shaking her head, her silvery-blonde hair catching the sunlight.

"You have far too much faith in my abilities," she answered with a grin. "But in any case, I've got the Championship now. The only others… Claude, Mercedes, Paul-Henri – I should be able to outduel them, my grades are better, and Mercedes hasn't two brain cells to rub together."

"I _did _tell you, _cherie. _And I'm truly looking forward to Mama's reaction."

Fleur grimaced. "She's going to be rather displeased with me, I imagine. She might actually kill me this time." She laughed, a bright peal that carried across the sky, drawing longing stares from the boys below. "Madame Maxine approved my application. This morning."

"Of course she did, there's no one else at your level. And Mama _will_ be angry," Ari said soberly. "You know she worries you'll end up crippled. God Forbid, what if you're _scarred? _Why, however could you go on?" Her straight face broke and she shot her sister a teasing grin.

Fleur chortled, giving Ariane a playful shove. "She can hardly object, since she pushed the Tournament with the Ministry. Besides, I'm sure even those backwards British healers could cure a scar or two."

Ariane shook her head, the mischief faded from her eyes. "She's right, you know. Fleur… people _die_ in that game, and no healer can cure that. I don't think Mama ever bargained on her daughter competing."

"_Merle_…" Fleur sounded wary. "This is _my _choice. It's… it's something I need to do."

"You don't need to prove anything," Ari said slowly. "To anyone."

"It's not for anyone else," Fleur answered. "It's for _myself_. I deserve this chance."

"You do. I just… worry." Ari looked into her sisters eyes, and sighed. "Your recklessness will be the death of you."

"Adventurousness, not recklessness." Fleur waved her hand airily. "You think things through too much. Really, you would have so little fun without me."

"I imagine I would have so few troubles without you," Ariane answered dryly.

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Come with me, _Merle_."

"What, to Albion? But I'm not old enough to qualify." Ari stopped, seeing the confident, knowing look spreading across her sibling's face.

"Madame wants to win," Fleur remarked loftily. "And obviously, I'm her best chance. She'll agree to a few of my _minor_ requests."

"So…"

Fleur smiled openly. "She's already agreed. You _will_ come, won't you? I don't know how I'd cope, if you weren't there to talk to. The rest of our delegation seems incapable of holding a conversation without mentioning the Quafflepuncher Keeper's latest fling, or some such vapid nonsense. Besides, all the Heirs in Albion go to Hogwarts. Think of the connections you could make – it'll be good for the future."

Her sister nodded thoughtfully. "And, of course, I could keep you from getting killed."

Fleur glared. "You say that as though I'd fall off a tower without your _watchful eyes_."

Ari laughed. "Of course not, you're far too graceful for that. But you probably would insult some important noble's son and get challenged to a duel."

"Oh, well, I'd win." Fleur countered, smirking.

"You probably would," Ari answered. She paused for a moment. "You're wrong, _cherie_. Mama isn't _maybe_ going to kill you – she's definitely going to."

Fleur looked delighted. "Then, you'll come?"

"Gabby is going to be furious, you know. The Tournament's all she's been dreaming about for months. I think she plans to marry a Triwizard Champion."

Fleur beamed. She threw her arms around her dark-haired sister. "Hogwarts won't know what hit it."

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A/N: _Merle_ means blackbird in French, hence the title. Thanks for reading, and if you liked it, please take the time to review. It'd make us very happy people :D

Second A/N:

It's been a (very) long time since our last update… sorry about that. But Blackbird's undergone a reimagining, re-plotting, and re-characterizing. Some of the old posts we'll keep, some we won't, and hopefully updates will be more frequent now. Thanks for reading, understanding, and (hopefully) reviewing.

~Echo + Kibou


	3. Chapter 2: Puppetry

Disclaimer: Echo says according to the Fair Use Doctrine, we shouldn't need a disclaimer. But Kibou says we should follow FF's rules. Because we post on here. And because it has the largest traffic of any fanfic site. (E: And 'cuz she's a _follower_)

(Almost) all characters, settings, and events belong to JKR. (K: Ari belongs to us).

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**Chapter 2- Puppetry**

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_Before she announced which of us could put our names into the Cup, Madame asked a question of all us would-be champions. Purely a formality, of course; the team had already been decided, but it seems traditions must be observed. Standing at a raised dais, watching her address each of my 'peers', I ought to have felt triumphant, knowing that not only I was guaranteed a bid at the Tournament, but I was almost certain to be the Beauxbatons Champion. Instead, I felt disgust welling in my throat, listening to the scripted answers of each student in line. Every one of them, like puppets on a stage, mouthed the same platitudes – answers that had always been looked upon favorably, repeated by Triwizard aspirants for centuries. Verbatim, textbook, ancient answers. For the honor of my name, for the honor of my House, for the honor of my country, for the honor of my school… I had meant to say the same, but the words lingered heavy and bitter on my tongue. With each repetition, the words seemed even hollower than before. I had no House, no great name, little enough pride in my schooling. And I had no interest in _honor. _I kept my hands folded and my eyes cast demurely to the floor._

_ "And you, Mademoiselle Delacour?" My turn to answer. "Why do you wish to compete?" Madame asked._

_ My gaze met hers. I glimpsed a steely flash of defiance in the reflection of her glasses. My voice cut clearly across the hall. _

_ "To win."_

_ I am no one's puppet – tradition least of all._

_- Fleur_

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Mercedes let out a cry of dismay. "_Ma foi_, they cannot truly expect us to live in such a – a – " she struggled to find words to describe the dilapidated castle.

Fleur brushed past her, rolling her eyes in contempt. "Some of us have greater worries than housekeeping," she remarked coolly. "I, for example, will be occupied with the Tournament. But I'm sure the House Elves here will be delighted if you put your skills to use in their assistance."

The Catalan flushed, but had no reply. Shivering, Fleur drew up to her sister's side, scowl melting as Ariane's warm breeze washed over her.

"That was rather harsh," Ari murmured absently, her eyes roving the crowd.

"She'd been cruel the whole ride, you know. I though a slight rebuke was in order," The blonde surveyed the school. "Though she's not wrong. This place is… _derelict_."

"Ari nodded, clearly preoccupied. "I said harsh, not undeserved," she murmured. Her pupils flicked from person to person, surveying and dismissing them before moving on.

Fleur frowned. "_Merle,_ surely you can wait a day before starting your political games."

Her sister looked up in surprise, and smiled. "Politics? For you, I'm sure I could. I was scouting out the competition." She waved vaguely at the crowd of Hogwarts students. "I recognized a few children we've met, but most aren't even old enough to compete. None of them will be chosen Champion, unless Hogwarts curriculum is disturbingly lacking. See those badges? I looked it up before we came, they signify Prefects. Those are your most likely challenges. There are eight in each of the higher years, but since they have to be eighteen to compete, only the sixth and seventh years should be able to. So far I've spotted five who might be old enough, but I'm not sure…" Fleur followed her gaze to each of them.

"That one looks too weak." Fleur said, discarding a Slytherin Prefect. "Exercise is obviously less important to him than food." She glared at a starstruck third-year who seemed about to trip over his robes. "And that one," she added derisively, indicating a handsome Prefect in Hufflepuff colors, "Good looking men rarely attempt to develop any sort of talent."

Ignoring the blonde's skepticism, Ari turned towards the arriving Durmstrang students. She raised an eyebrow. "Viktor Krum. Think he'll give you a run?"

Fleur's statuesque lips curled. "As I said, good looking men rarely attempt to develop any talent. He plays Quidditch well, which means his ability quota is entirely overstretched."

Shaking her head, Ariane walked into the castle. "In any case, they're nearly all male. So you've probably got an advantage there, when it gets to dueling. And as for Beauxbatons… Andre didn't have the nerve to enter, and Isabella wanted to graduate early, so you're nearly guaranteed the spot."

They stepped into the Great Hall. "Ah." Fleur said dryly, stopping short. "_Merle_, it's very disturbing to find myself in agreement with Mercedes."

Ari's lips twitched. "Well… it's not _so_ terrible. I mean, there's… Well, maybe we'll get used to it?" She sighed in resignation. "It's not a big deal, _Cheri_. I'm sure the Champion will get to stay in Madame's carriage."

"Perhaps Beauxbatons ought to have hosted." Fleur sat down at a table of curious English, her sister slipping into the seat beside her.

"Perhaps. But don't you think you'll have more important things to worry about than the living arrangements?" The Headmaster began his speech. A group of older boys were staring at Fleur, dumbstruck. She scowled at them, swishing her hair as she turned away in contempt.

"… don't _need_ his _autograph_, _ma cherie_. I'm going to have him ask me to that Ball they host." The whispers caught her ear. "Imagine, if we're both champions. Viktor Krum and I…"

Fleur laughed, a cold, ringing censure. "Mercedes, not only is your taste so bad as to be below comment, I think it unlikely you'll even get the autograph."

Mercedes' face hardened. "I plan to be Champion, Fleur, and the Tournament's no beauty pageant. Your… appeal won't have any effect on the Cup."

Seeing her sister color, Ari decided to cut in _before someone's pretty hair got burnt to a crisp_. Her face a mask of scorn, she curled her lips into a feral smile. "If you relied less on your own looks, you would realize she depends on other talents."

The Spanish witch opened her mouth to reply, but stopped short. Madame Maxine had fixed the three with a heavy scowl.

Ariane cast her eyes around the hall, listening vaguely as the Headmaster cautioned bidders, trying to place faces. She recognized several House children sitting all-across the hall, but the most powerful families seemed to be clustered at the table where Durmstrang sat – Slytherin house. _Well, that was hardly surprising_. Theodore Nott – was he the Heir? She couldn't quite remember. Daphne Greengrass – her House was on the rise. Draco Malfoy – well, that name needed no explanation. Her eyes focused on the two oversized goons across from him, before flickering on. They probably were from a powerful house, but from the glazed, uncomprehending looks they sported, she doubted they'd ever be forces in their own right.

With a flourish, the Headmaster concluded his speech, gesturing magnanimously towards suddenly filled tables.

"Do you see Boulbolliase?" her sister asked. Ari glanced around and pointed towards a table adorned by red and gold banners. She grinned, watching some Gryffindors face turn nearly the same shade as his copper colored hair as Fleur haughtily demanded her favorite soup. A bushy-headed brunette glared at the blonde as she glided away.

Ariane leaned toward her sister. "The accent is a bit overdone, don't you think?" she murmured.

Fleur raised an eyebrow.

"You speak perfect English."

"No need for them to know that, _Merle."_

* * *

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Seated in the Headmaster's office, he listened to the droning of visiting dignitaries. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had just arrived that evening- _with their typical showiness_. All their arrival spelled for him was tedious meetings and superfluous paperwork on top of his usual load of classes with the brats. He already had Headache Potions of various strengths brewing in his lab.

The Headmasters and their Deputies were meeting to arrange the details of the foreign students' stay in Hogwarts – and the Heads' presence was obligated.

"It is settled then," Madame Maxine said, with a light French accent. "Our seventh-forms will attend seminars with the Headmasters and one other class of their choice."

"Yes," Karkaroff smiled thinly, displaying his yellowed teeth. "It would do Viktor and the others good to learn from the best there is."

Dumbledore smiled benignly, "I'm sure our seventh-years will be delighted to learn from such accomplished luminaries. Would you like a lemon drop, Olympe, Igor, before we retire for the night?"

Maxine grimaced slightly and demurred. "But I'm afraid I _do_ have one last thing to bring up."

"Oh? Pray tell." Severus sighed heavily. All he wanted was to return to his experiments, to see if using _melanogaster_ flies instead of lacewing made the Polyjuice transformation less painful. Was that so much to ask?

She produced a stack of papers. "I have a student who will need to take her classes with your students at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Really, Olympe? We had just decided your seventh-years would be following the arrangement we have just agreed upon."

The large Headmistress smiled and shook her head. "Ah, but Albus, she is not a seventh-form. Mademoiselle Delacour is sixteen."

McGonagall's lips pursed. "A fourth-year?"

Snape tapped his fingers impatiently. _Dear Merlin. Just let her take the bloody classes and adjourn already. The flies can only stew for twenty hours exactly._

The Hogwarts Headmasters' eyes twinkled. "The dark-haired girl sitting with her sister, then? The daughters of your Foreign Minister, I believe."

Severus saw the Frenchwomen's eyes narrow slightly in irritation. _He never _does _miss anything, _he thought with grudging respect. _ Even if he acts crazy as a leprechaun on moonshine._

"_Oui_," Maxine replied warily. "We made an exception for her, as her sister is our favorite to win the Tournament. Her mother was the one to push approval for the Tournament in the Gallian Ministry, as well."

"Very well. What courses does Miss Delacour wish to enroll in?"

"Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration." She paused, seeming slightly amused by something.

"Is there something I should be aware of?" the Transfiguration professor asked tersely.

"_Non_, _non_," Maxine replied. "It's only that I doubt Ariane will be your favorite student." She continued, "She will also be taking Herbology, Ancient Runes, History, and Arithmancy."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well, I have no objections, though I'll need a copy of her transcript. Now, final arrangements for the opening ceremony…"

* * *

Ari and her sister heard a rapping knock on their door. Fleur flicked her wand towards the door, allowing Maxine to enter.

"Your papers, Ariane." Maxine nodded towards Ari before turning to her prospective champion.

"I presume the two of you have been discussing the competition?"

Fleur raised her eyebrows, answering demurely, "It would be premature to presume I'd be Beauxbatons champion, _non_, Madame?"

"I think we can dispense with the facades," Maxine said bluntly. "Have you been looking at tasks from the previous Tournaments? Karkaroff is pushing Krum rather heavily. That sly English coot is playing his cards close to the chest, but his students' rankings are listed in the library, it shouldn't be hard to deduce who has a real chance."

"Fleur needs to spend her time preparing. I'll look through the records," Ari volunteered.

Their Headmistress agreed. "Of course, I'm magically bound not tell you what Beauxbatons has suggested, but I assure you our task will play to your strengths."

Nodding slowly, Fleur added, "And Durmstrangs is almost guaranteed to be dark, they won't think we're prepared for it. Hogwarts will be unpredictable, I think… And the Goblet, of course - it usually picks one maze type, but the others are random. I'll need a dueling partner, as well. Ari's good, but she's not Triwizard level."

Ari looked thoughtful. "There are a couple decent duelers in our delegation, and you'll need to practice with different styles. David and Paul-Henri, maybe Claudia. But you're probably better than they are already, and Durmstrang's got a reputation for it. I'd say cut your losses and focus on the other tasks. Dueling only counts for half the points as the rest."

Fleur shot her sister a predatory grin. "Not a chance, _Merle_. Dueling's a crowd-pleaser, and I plan to make an impression."

"I can't assist you directly," Maxine frowned. "But I can arrange a portkey from the outskirts of school back to Beauxbatons. Professor Dubois spent some time on the circuit, I'm sure she could train you." She rose to leave.

"Ariane," she added, turning back. "I have not informed Professor Dumbledore of your abilities. I doubt they'll be much trouble, but perhaps it would be wiser - ,"

"I'll be discretion incarnate," Ari cut her off, voice dry. "I've hear it before, Madame."

"I know you have. Good night, Fleur, Ariane."

The two girls looked at each other as the door closed. "She wanted to be sure you were committed," Ari noted sardonically. "Wanted to make sure her bets were placed somewhere safe."

Her sister nodded, reaching for an advanced Charms guide. "Nowhere safer."

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A/N:

As you can probably tell, we changed a few things. First of all, their ages: we added two years to everyone – first years are thirteen, second years are fourteen, etc.

And yes, we changed the number of tasks, it's more fun to write (and hopefully, read) this way. Since the way Tasks are chosen in the books isn't fully explained, we decided that… well, it'll be in the next chapter. :D

If you liked it, please review.

-Echo + Kibou


	4. Chapter 3: Fire and Ice

Disclaimer: It's fanfiction. We get exactly zero dollars and zero cents for this. It all belongs to JKR.

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**Chapter 3- Fire and Ice  
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_I was very young when Papa died - only six years old. At first, I didn't understand what had happened. He didn't come home, reporters flocked our house. But there'd always been reporters, and he'd always be away. Even at his funeral, I sat there wondering why he was in the casket, why he lay so still, why he didn't respond when I called his name. That, I remember clearly – tugging at Mama's skirt, asking _

"_Why won't Papa talk to me? Why are they putting him in the ground? Mama? Mama, why are you crying?"_

_I'm not sure when I realized that Papa was not returning home, that Merle and I would never run, laughing, into his arms to be lifted on his shoulders. Mother's smile seemed wane and lost for years, but even she learned to live again, if only for her daughters. Merle was less affected, not because she didn't see Papa as her true father, but because she couldn't comprehend his fate 'till she had forgotten him. For myself, I kept a photo of him near me at all times, at my desk as I learned, under my pillow as I slept, clutched close to my heart whenever I thought of my family. I spoke to it every day, telling him about all my exploits and epiphanies, my hopes, my fears, my tragedies. But time passed, and I began to speak to the photo once a day, then once a week, then less… and less. I forgot the way he smelled, the way he laughed. It terrified me at first, because I hadn't even noticed it happening. Yet no matter how hard I tried to hold to my memories of him, he slipped away. One day I couldn't recall his warm hugs, the next his proud face. Slowly, inexorably, uneventfully, the memories of my father faded away, till all I had left were second-hand tales and a much worn photo._

_- Fleur_

* * *

"Could you sign this transfer form, please?"

_Merlin. Not another one._ Snape scrawled his name across the line, accepting Potter's potion with the other hand. His voice was flat, filled with the excruciating boredom he felt day after thankless day, trying to ram an education down ungrateful teenage throats.

"Glad to have you," he said, anything but. "Please take a seat, Miss…" he glanced at the top of the paper, "… Delacour."

Resigned, he handed the sheet back, resigned to yet another trial to his patien-

Potter's potion shattered.

Several students jumped at the sound, some looking sympathetic, other's smirking at Potters horrified expression. His eyes narrowed at his Professor, falling to the limp hand the flask had slipped from.

The girl's eyes flicked to Potter, then back to Snape, and her eyes rose slightly. She looked back at him, her level gaze countering his irate glare.

"Books… are in the back cupboard." Snape's voice was thick with quiet fury.

She stood still for a moment, before nodding slowly.

"… -ly unfair to blame me for your greasy grip, this is…" Snape tuned out Potter's angry voice, too distracted to even dock House Points.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry!" Granger's apologetic cry broke through his shock. "I vanished it, I thought you and Ron'd - " Her voice tapered off as Snape turned his eyes towards her.

"Professor, you can't really expect me to take _another _zero for - "

"Potter, if you stop talking right _now, _you can have Weasley's grade," He rose abruptly and, stony-faced, swept out of the room. Dumbfounded, Harry stared at his back.

"Bloody hell, mate, since when has Snape cut you a break?"

"Yeah, "Harry answered in bewilderment. "You don't think he dropped it on purpose and just felt bad, or something?"

Ron snorted. "You've been sniffing too many fumes if you think _Snape's_ grown a conscience, the man's a - " He caught Hermione's pointed glare. "Uh, a professor...?"

"I've always said he isn't as unreasonable as you make him out to be."

"Of course he is. Did you see the look he gave that Beauxbatons girl? Besides, he as good as gave me a zero anyway," Harry grinned, shoving his best friend playfully. "Know who she is?"

Hermione shrugged. "I thought only sixth and seventh years were allowed in the Tournament."

"Too bad it's not that blonde," Ron sighed. "Merlin, she had a nice set of knockers, didn't she? I really - "

"Ronald, do me a favor and don't finish that sentence." Hermione said haughtily. "She has a name, you know. Fleur Delacour."

"How'd you know that?" The redhead suddenly looked a lot more interested.

Hermione looked uncharacteristically sour. "Well, everyone in the castle with a Y-chromosome, and a few without, actually, wanted to know the 'blonde bombshell's na-"

"A Y-what?"

"Never mind, Ron. Anyway, by now, some of the seventh year boys have even put in orders for the French society pages. Apparently, her mother's a politician. Honestly - "

"Pretty damn cute, though," Ron cut in again.

He stopped at Hermione's incredulous glare. "She's a _politician's_ daughter. She's got that pretentious accent and everything; they're all silver-spoon-fed self-indulgent socialites, just look at Mal-"she stopped, realizing the dark-haired girl was standing by their desk.

She turned towards them and raised an eyebrow.

"Let me introduce myself. Ariane Carina _Delacour_." She extended her hand. "And while I'm sure you're painfully right about whichever of us silver-spoon-fed," her lip curled, "politicians' children you're referring to, I can assure you that _my sister_ and I are not tarred by the same brush. The socialites you're referring to were raised to be exceptional politicians. I – and Fleur – were simply raised to be _exceptional_."

Ariane gave Hermione a polite handshake, in stark contrast to her frigid grey eyes. "Nice meeting you."

Ari turned towards an open-mouthed Neville and gestured to the vacant seat at his side.

"May I join you?"

Neville glanced toward a reddening Hermione, then, looking back at the French girl's imperious smile, nodded wordlessly.

Harry and Ron looked at their open-mouthed friend, and tried vainly to stifle a wide grin.

* * *

"Enjoy class," Fleur smirked. "You could have just opted out of it, you know."

Ariane stalled in front of the door. "I'd have had to double it next year. Besides, that'd be a cop out. I'll figure it out this year."

Walking away, Fleur gave her sister a two fingered salute.

With a sigh, Ari pushed open the doors to McGonagall's classroom. She handed over a transfer form, meeting her new professor's flat gaze. "Please, take a seat, Miss Delacour."

Addressing the class, McGonagall announced "This class we will be changing a hedgehog into a pincushion. Pair up. We have a new student, so we've got an odd number. Miss Granger, I'd ask that you work alone today." She began passing around instruction sheets, adding "Mr. Longbottom, please try not to do anything that would require a trip to the Hosptial Wing."

Ari swore under her breath.

She saw Neville looking at her hopefully. He sat down beside her, probably expecting her to recreate her success with Nightshade antidotes that morning.

"Okay," he began, looking to her for instruction. "How do we start?"

She looked at his round, cheerful visage and sighed.

"Longbottom," she hissed, ignoring his optimistic look. "Don't expect much in this class. My talents lie elsewhere."

Neville blinked owlishly. "Oh, don't say that - I'm sure you'll be brilliant."

"Longbottom," Ari repeated. "Perish any thoughts of my supposed modesty. When I say my talents lie elsewhere, they really do lie elsewhere."

He almost… _deflated_. "What?"

Ari pinched her nose in annoyance. "Look, you're going to see it. Let's just see what I manage to conjure up today." She turned, raised her wand, and cast a sympathetic look at the innocent hedgehog.

"Sorry, prickly little mammal." She waved her wand and tried to visualize a pincushion.

The hedgehog blinked at her. Suddenly, its cheeks puffed up. Spines raised, it bloated and shot into the air. Whizzing around the room, it missed a dark-skinned Gryffindors head by less than an inch and sent a pair of shrieking girls under a table before impaling itself on McGonagall's desk.

Ari swore loudly in French as a thin-lipped McGonagall picked up the curiously rubber-like hedgehog with two fingers

Neville inched away surreptitiously, with a look of horror mixed with twisted awe. "You're even worse than _I_ am."

It was going to be a long year.

Ari rushed out of the door when the bell rang. Her eyes narrowed, spotting her sister leaning against the wall.

"How was class, _Merle_?" Fleur smiled coyly.

Ari scowled. "Stupid bloody Transfiguration laws. Give me Potions any day, at least those make bloody sense not like Gamp's _ludicrously_ illogical Five Laws of Elemental Transfiguration. I swear to Merlin, Nature was on _drugs _when she wrote those laws…" She continued, muttering darkly.

Fleur raised an eyebrow. "My, my, you're in a foul mood. Something rather _interesting_ must have happened then."

Ari glared at her sister, who merely smiled invitingly. "Fine," she snapped. "I turned the hedgehog into some kind of a cross between a puffer-fish and a balloon and it nearly impaled some guy from Gryffindor. Happy now?"

Her sister grinned. "Quite. I was beginning to get bored." She took hold of Ari's arm, dragging her down the hall. "Come on, we have to prepare for the Opening Ceremony," she made a face, "and more of that disgustingly rich Hogwarts food."

* * *

Dumbledore stood on a dais before his eager students. "This Tournament symbolizes the international cooperation between the three great magical nations of Europe - Albion, Gallia, and Prussia. So, on that note, students, colleagues, distinguished guests, and friends – we welcome the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang."

The doors of the Great Hall swung open with a dramatic crash. Krum, at the head of the Durmstrang delegation, stood before a prodigious rune-carved urn. Beside him, Fleur stood before her own cistern, a cool expression on her lovely face.

Krum gave her an impassive glance. She smiled wanly, cocking an eyebrow. Then, in one instant, the two raised their wands, sweeping them down in a slashing arc that cut the urns in two.

There was a bright flash, and Ari furiously blinked away the vision spots. She heard a few screams as two dragons roared to life – undulating effigies of the scaled prophets of the Far East, twisting coils of flame and scintillating ice. Krum pulled a thick staff from behind his back, pounding it twice against the floor before raising it in a complex stave pattern. Behind him, each of the Durmstrang delegates did the same, a cascade of sparks flying with each turn of the wood.

Fleur raised her wand, drawing a shimmering rune in the air. High above the Great Hall, it glowed silver for a moment before solidifying into millions of glinting crystals. Each of the delegation drew their wands and traced a rune into the air, casting it forward to merge with Fleur's. As the last runes dissolved together, the emblem shattered, showering the students in effervescent crystals of ice, dancing with reflected sparks. The hall was bathed in a fiery, brilliant light.

The dragons wove past tables filled with students, most of who had regained their composure and were watching in awe as they swirled across the hall. Fleur and Krum led their delegations forward. Ahead of them, the pair of undulating dragons flew to Dumbledore's raised dais, twining around each other as they landed before him. Ripples marred the flowing ice and flame, each dragon's form solidifying. As the scales of flame stiffened, the dragon pointed its snout towards the sky, releasing a last fiery breath. Beside it, its twin exhaled, spears of ice spiraling around the column of flame – water and fire frozen, entwined for eternity.

Krum spoke first. "The schools of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons present this gift to the school of Hogwarts for its hospitality. May the Games be noble, the Champions honorable, the Winner worthy."

"May the friendship between our schools last as long as stone stands, as long as Gubraithian fire burns, and as long as the Ice of Perrenelle endures," added Fleur.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "The School of Hogwarts accepts these gifts of alliance and welcomes you to our school. May you have the use of the stone of our walls, the fire in our hearths, the food at our tables."

Beside him stood a table – upon it, a rich velvet cloth covered a vaguely cup-shaped object. With a flourish, he vanished the cloth to reveal the glinting Goblet of Fire. He held his wand at the Goblet's edge for a moment before murmuring a spell. Flames roared to life, tinting the Goblet's crystal in twisting shades of red and blue.

"The Goblet is lit," he intoned. "May the Triwizard Tournament begin."

* * *

A/N:

We always thought just unveiling the Goblet at the Halloween Feast was rather anticlimactic. So this is our version. If you can't tell yet, Fleur's not going to the week leetle French girl she was in Book 4 – she wouldn't be champion if she was.

If you're wondering, Albion is the ancient name for England, Gallia is Latin for Gaul (France).

Sorry, we didn't explain how our tasks are going to work… next chapter, we promise.

Reviews are, as always, welcome.

Echo & Kibou


	5. Chapter 4: Crazy

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Series and everything involved belongs to JKR.

* * *

**Chapter 4- Crazy**

* * *

_This place is _crazy. _Absolutely, unequivocally, undeniably crazy. The stairways are always moving, how do they expect us to get to class on time? And they have a giant squid in their lake. Their _freshwater_ lake. Besides, what do they want a squid for? They're not even mythical. If they want something mysterious and magical to guard their castle, they should get something _interesting_, like a Kraken._

_- Ariane_

* * *

"_Imperio."_

Seamus Finnigan jumped onto the table and began to tap-dance to the beat of Moody's wand. Ari tuned out the tittering class, appraising eyes focusing on her scowling teacher. Impressive. He'd cast the spell twelve times in quick succession, and he hadn't even broken a sweat. And they had to be powerful, too – most of the class hadn't resisted in the slightest. Either he was extraordinarily powerful, or Hogwarts fourth years were extraordinarily weak willed. Given the stories about the man, she was inclined to believe the former. He was well-known even in Gallia; the way some people told it, he was almost single-handedly responsible for putting down a particularly nasty blood-supremacist cult about fifteen years back. Looking at the scars marring his face (and the disconcerting ease with which he wielded the Imperius), she could almost believe it.

Then again, the leader was taken out by a _baby_. So it probably wouldn't take too much to deal with those so-called "Death-Eaters".

"Zabini!" Moody barked. Ari watched the Slytherin saunter to the front of the classroom, winking at a giggling female classmate.

"_Imperio._" Sweat broke out on Zabini's face. Teeth clenching, he visibly struggled against the curse, holding the edge of the desk for support.

Moody released the spell, waving absently towards the back wall with the only two others able to break the curse. Ari watched him go, wondering why his name hadn't been in her banks of House heirs at Hogwarts. He may have been Mundane-born, but to break the Imperius without any training… one would need to be extraordinarily strong-willed.

"The girl in blue." Ariane jerked her head around, seeing the professor beckon. "Let's see if Beauxbatons teaches you how to do anything besides embroidering pretty doilies."

Ari forced herself not to grind her teeth. Ignoring snickers from most of the class, she stepped calmly forward.

Closing her eyes, she slipped behind Occulumency shields. She drew an even breath, feeling the curse wash over her. Her fingers filled with a warm, tingling feeling, itching to submit to a command. Ari breathed again, her mind staying clear.

Her eyes opened, focusing on Moody's electric, twitching blue. She _pushed_.

Blinking as she felt the curse dissipate, she quickly hid the surprise on her face. Strange… his curse had been messy, the magic erratic – as though the spell was self-taught, or his core had been damaged.

"Not too bad, for the French," Moody admitted gruffly. "What was your name?"

"Ariane Delacour."

"Stand by the back wall. Next…" he glanced at the roster in his hand.

"Malfoy!" he barked, face sour.

Ariane watched the professor's face, more interested in the sudden anger he showed than in Malfoy fighting the curse. She saw it darken as he threw off the Imperius.

"Who would have guessed? I always thought feeble wills ran in your family." Moody's voice held a vaguely threatening note.

"Given his… history with the curse, you can't be surprised my father gave me training," Malfoy answered, scowling.

"Well, the next time he tries to buy his way out of a conviction, I suppose he won't be able to appeal to his extraordinarily weak mind,"

"Perhaps yours was just an extraordinarily weak curse."

"Twenty points from Slytherin. Back wall, _Mr. Malfoy_."

Even the Gryffindors who'd laughed at Mad-Eye's first insult were silent, feeling the tension between the two. As Malfoy walked past Ariane, he fixed Moody with an angry look. Mad-Eye's hand twitched to his wand, face murderous. Malfoy stood stiffly next to Ari as Moody called a Lavender Brown. His eyes flickered to Zabini, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, then to Ari's.

"Yes?" he asked tersely

Ari turned away from him, watching another student succumb to the Imperius. "Only wondering how to drive a professor to murder this early in the term."

"Mad-Eye Moody… has a grudge against my father."

"Of course," she said tonelessly. _Wonderful, _Ari rolled her eyes internally, _he's one of _those _types. _With some Purebloods, failure was never their fault – someone always had a grudge, or hadn't fought "honorably." At least he hadn't said Moody was jealous of his status.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Well," he answered, in a falsely light tone, "they did try to do each other in, after all."

"Wizard's Duel?"

"Politics."

Ari kept her face blank, recognizing the intended intimidation. Well, she'd been raised to play the game too.

"Draco Malfoy." He offered his hand. "I don't believe we're acquainted."

"Quite the contrary," Ariane replied innocently. "We met when your father came to Gallia to discuss luxury tariffs with my mother and our Finance Minister." She broke the handshake, knowing the taxes had cost the Malfoy export machine a considerable amount.

"Ariane Carina Delacour."

* * *

"… so anyone who could throw off the Imperius was paired up and put in an advanced Defense group." Ari and Fleur watched the Hogwarts students eyeing the Goblet, scouting for competition. Ari nodded.

"Of course, that just meant people who'd already been trained in Occulumency. They're mostly from old families, although the Professor added one mundane-born. Needed an even number."

"Is your sparring partner any good?" Fleur eyed a tall, black girl as she dropped a slip of parchment into the smoking cup. The girl winked at a group of cheering Gryffindors.

"Draco Malfoy. I don't know, we haven't dueled yet… Moody just assigned them. There was an odd number, though, so he added some girl from Gryffindor. It seems like most of them are pretty behind though…"

_Moody's fist slammed on the desk. "Pathetic – five of you could break the curse – _five!_ And one of them's not even from Hogwarts. How do you plan to fight Dark Lords if you can't even defend your own minds? And these diagnostic exams – " He swept a pile of papers onto the floor._

_ "Most of you barely know how to deal with a Hinkypunk, let alone an enemy with a wand. If I wanted, I could kill the lot of you within a minute." He pointed his wand at a student. _

_ "You, Finnigan! I'm about to slice your chest open. What do you do?"_

_ The Irish boy stared at the wand, terrified. _

_ Moody flicked his wand back into its holster, sounding disgusted. "Pathetic."_

Fleur shrugged as Ari recounted the class. "Let's hope they're all that bad. The worse the competition, the better for me."

A handsome Hufflepuff was pushed into the age circle by his laughing friends. There was a roar of approval as he dropped his name into the Goblet with a flourish. All of the Hogwarts students clapped, though the ones with yellow ties seemed the most enthusiastic.

"Do you know which Durmstrangs submitted their names, _cherie?_"

"Madame Maxine said nearly all of them did, this morning. Ours are all going to as well, after dinner."

Ari raised an eyebrow. "Ours?"

Fleur glared at a sixth year who was staring at her slack-jawed. "_Merle_, I put mine in before breakfast."

* * *

She closed her eyes, allowing the wind to buffet her face. Cold and sharp, it snapped against her skin and swept over her outstretched arms. Ari breathed in, filling her lungs and letting the flailing air strike against her body and rush through her fingers. Her cheeks smarted as the blast pummeled against them.

Ari stepped back from the edge of the Astronomy Tower. Fleur looked up from a detailed copy of the Triwizard Rules and laughed.

"_Merle, _your hair looks like a bird's nest. That's fallen to the ground. And been run over."

Her sister scowled, running her fingers through her black hair. "And how goes your cheating?"

The veela held up the rule-book. "It's not cheating if it's not in here."

"It's a loophole. Semantics."

"No, no, _Merle,_ it is _initiative._ And don't pretend you wouldn't do the same."

Ari grinned. "Just make sure to read carefully. No one can do anything if you find a way around them, but the punishment for breaking the rules is… severe." She sat against her sisters' back, flipping open a Herbology textbook.

"I thought I might find you here," a familiar voice drawled from the doorway.

Ari looked up, and broke into a grin.

"Amadeus," Fleur exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

The blonde boy leaned against the wall, carelessly. "Fleur Delacour," he said calmly, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "It's been far too long."

Fleur rolled her eyes, and engulfed him in a hug. She pushed him back to study his face, and then pulled him into another embrace. Laughing, he freed himself from her to extend his arms to the other sister.

"And little Ariane. You always did like high places."

Ari wrapped her arms around him. "Not so little anymore. It's been the better part of two years."

"And you've grown beautiful in them. Surely the boys aren't still paying attention to your drab sister?" he teased. Fleur smacked his arm playfully.

"So, 'Deus, are we going to settle the bet during the Tournament?" she asked. Ari smiled, remembering years of bickering over which of the pair was more magically powerful.

He shook his head ruefully. "I'm afraid my name's not in the Goblet."

"So why are you here?"

"Same as you, I imagine - meeting future friends and enemies. And I'm supporting someone."

"Oh?" Fleur asked with a grin. "Ari, there's a special _someone_."

Amadeus just smiled mysteriously. Then he looked at Ari and his expression clouded.

"You're not looking for him, are you?" he asked.

"Him?" Ari answered innocently.

Amadeus frowned. "You know perfectly well what I mean. Your father. He's from Albion, isn't he?"

She shook her head, smiling. "'Deus, that stopped bothering me years ago. Besides," she said with a playful glance at her sister, "I can barely deal with the family I have now."

Unconvinced, he pressed "Ariane, I can hardly imagine you giving up on it."

Ari met his eyes, reading the clear concern in them. She sighed. "I couldn't find him if I wanted to. Amadeus, I don't know anything about him. Mama won't tell me anything, only that he's dangerous. She worries, and in this I have no choice but to trust her judgment."

He nodded slowly. "In that case, I apologize." Amadeus gave her a small bow.

She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you still do that. You never change, do you?"

Fleur gave him a fond kiss on the cheek, laughing. "He's Amadeus, _Merle. _Of course not."

"So what do you think of these British, my dear?" he asked her.

"This place is _insane,_" Ari and Fleur answered together.

* * *

Amused, Ari watched Neville pull on his dragon-leather gloves. Smiling, he petted the various _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ that swayed in the pots before them.

"Aren't they cute?"

She sighed as she pulled on her own gloves, pointedly ignoring her partner's happy ramblings (anyway, she wasn't sure whether they were directed at her or the plants).

Useful? Yes. After all, one couldn't get by very far in Potions without a solid grasp of what one was putting into their concoctions. And Buboter pus was very useful for treating infections. But cute? Merlin, no. And she wasn't going to bloody _coo_ over the bulbous, sap-filled plants _like they were fluffy little kneazles_.

She glanced at Neville, stroking one lovingly and murmuring childish gibberish_._ Ari sighed, grabbing a bottle to collect the sap.

"Longbottom."

"Yes?" His round face seemed lit up with some bulbous, sap-filled inner joy.

"Let's make a deal. I'll ensure you don't trigger any explosions, destroy too many inanimate objects, or incur grievous harm to a living being in Potions - and you're going to lend me your walking Herbology-encyclopedia brain. Deal?"

His face split into a wide grin.

"Sure!" Neville beamed, thrilled someone wanted his help in his favorite subject. "Well, the _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ is a very rare plant that was originally found on the banks of the Euphrates, which seems contradictory since it has a strong resemblance to cacti, but since it lacks many of the water-conserving adaptations most desert plants do – for example, they have a C3 cycle rather than a CAM cycle, as well as not having stomata in indents. Certain breeds _have _developed trichomes, and obviously they don't have the kind of large leaves that allow for high transpiration…"

He stopped, seeing Ari giving him a nonplussed look.

"How do you know all of this?"

Neville blinked. "I read some books."

Ari gave him an appraising look, wondering why no one was willing to sit next to him in class. She shook her head, returning to the task. The Longbottom Heir was either an idiot savant or just very, _very _lonely.

"Oh," she paused, remembering something. "And another condition. Just don't ask me to _pet _a plant. _Any _of them. _Ever."_

* * *

Hoping she didn't smell of Buboter Pus, Ari walked out of the greenhouse and checked her schedule.

"Hey, Neville? Do you know where Care of Magical Creatures is?"

He nodded. "I've got it too. I'll show you?" he asked, a small hopeful note tinting his voice.

"Yes, that'd be great," she said gratefully. "What're you studying?"

A strange look crossed his face. "Err… you'll see."

Ari gave him a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain… Look, it'll be, um, a surprise." He stopped in front of a hut, pointing at a pile of crates. "They're in there. And that's the Professor."

She blinked, seeing the man's girth. "Is he part giant?"

Neville nodded. "How'd you know?"

"He's a little large, Longbottom."

He blushed. "Oh. Yeah, I guess so."

Ari was surprised to realize she felt a little guilty. "Well, our Headmistress is half. So I recognize it." She gave him a friendly smile. "I need him to sign a form. I'll see you later."

"Professor Hagrid?" she asked "I'm transferring in from Beauxbatons; I'll need you to sign this form."

Hagrid gave her a good-natured smile. "You'd be the girl Dumbledore was talkin' 'bout." He scrawled his name across the sheet then squinted at the class. "Tell ya what, Zabini an' Greengrass 're feeding the Skrewts, you jus' go an' join them. Be a good way t' get to know 'em."

"Skrewts?" Ari asked with a vague sense of foreboding.

Hagrid chuckled. "You'll see. They're great fun, you're going t' love 'em."

She nodded, turning towards the students he'd pointed out, trying to recall their names.

"Daphne Greengrass, I assume?" The dark-haired girl looked up, surprised.

"Yes, that's me," she answered, her smooth voice _almost _concealing her suspicion.

"And Blaise Zabini." His easy, playful smile stood in sharp contrast to her blank expression.

"And your name?" He asked, taking her hand and kissing it. "Or do angels not have names?"

Ari caught Daphne rolling her eyes.

"Ariane Delacour. And tell me, have you tried that line on _every _girl here already, or just the single ones?"

"What? I would never say such a thing to anyone but a shining beacon of beauty," he said, sounding hurt. "Isn't that right, Daphne?" he cast her a plaintive look.

She snorted. "Blaise, you'd say that to a skrewt if you thought it'd get you shagged."

Zabini shook his head ruefully. "I should have partnered with Parkinson. She'd have backed me up."

"Parkinson'll say whatever you want her to if she thinks it'll get _her _shagged."

Blaise shuddered. "That harpy? Honestly, I'd rather the bloody skrewt."

"Skrewts?" Ari interjected dryly.

The two of them looked at each other, and then Daphne motioned her towards the crate and lifted the lid.

Ari blinked for a moment, speechless. _Hogwarts. Is. Crazy._

* * *

The air was thick with anticipation, a clamor of eager speculation filling the hall. Ari said goodbye to Blaise and waved at Amadeus, seated next to Krum at the Slytherin table. Sitting down at the Ravenclaw table, she gave her sister a reassuring smile.

Dumbledore tapped the podium, silencing the hall.

"The goblet seems almost ready to make its decision," he began. "Those who are selected, please proceed through the Hall to the chamber on the right."

Gravely, he looked out onto the students. "Remember, whoever is chosen may find great honor. But they are _sure _to find great danger. Each Champion will have to conquer the seven tasks chosen by the Goblet, one each chosen from suggestions by the three schools, and four by its own whim. Despite our new security measures, these tasks will be perilous and potentially life-threatening. So to all who are selected, I must wish a heartfelt 'good luck'".

As he finished, the goblet began to glow. A blue flame swirled through the red, casting shadows across the walls. Spellbound, Ari leaned forward, watching the flames dance across the rim of the cup.

A small, worn piece of parchment drifted out of the Cup into Dumbledore's waiting hands. "The Champion for Durmstrang is… Viktor Krum!"

Applause erupted from the Durmstrang delegation as the Quidditch star stood and walked proudly towards Dumbledore. Clapping politely, Ari was surprised to see how many Hogwarts students were whooping his name. She shrugged, doubting she'd ever understand sports fanaticism.

Krum shook Dumbledore's hand, stony-faced and serious.

Ari looked at Fleur, but her sister hadn't looked away from the swirling Goblet. Behind her, Amadeus was wearing a small smile, watching Krum disappear into the small chamber.

The flames in the Goblet swirled again.

A second piece of parchment was spat into the air, falling smoothly into Dumbledore's fingers.

"The Champion for Hogwarts is… Cedric Diggory!"

The Hufflepuff table exploded into an earsplitting roar. A few grinning friends shoved the Prefect into the aisle, chanting his name. Ari saw a few scowls at other tables, but then there would always be someone disappointed. Cedric bowed theatrically to the students, prompting a fresh round of applause from his House.

Ari held her breath. Only one more… Fleur drew a deep breath, watching the swirling fire.

It seemed to take the Headmaster an exceedingly long time to unroll the slip of parchment. Ari reached over and squeezed her sister's hand.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is…" She could hear her blood beating in her ears.

"Fleur Delacour!"

A flash of elation crossed Fleur's face, before she fell back into her uninviting, cold default. She sauntered to the podium, shaking the Headmaster's hand firmly. She nodded to her delegation, eyes on Ari. Ariane shot her a congratulatory smile, clapping.

Dumbledore motioned for silence. "I'm sure we are all – " He stopped.

The flames in the Goblet stirred again. Shocked, Ari watched a _fourth _piece of parchment fall lazily out of the air and land softly onto Dumbledore's palm.

The old man gazed at it wordlessly, as the Hall watched with bated breath.

"Harry… Harry Potter."

Ari caught her breath, her eyes flashing towards the Gryffindor table. _That scrawny kid in my Defense class? What the hell?_

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore's voice rang through the Hall, furious and commanding.

Ari leaned back, mind reeling. _A _second_ Hogwarts champion? How could… _She glanced at Amadeus, who gave her the slightest shrug of his shoulders. _And he's not even past the age requirement. _Her eyes drifted to Dumbledore. _It was his age line… but how could he have made the Goblet chose a second contender?_

* * *

A/N:

Finally, now the _action _can begin.

If you enjoyed this, please review.

~Echo and Kibou


	6. Chapter 5: Cheating

Disclaimer: All of this belongs to JKR.

* * *

**Chapter 5- Cheating**

* * *

_ Is it really so much to ask? _Really_ – all I wanted was a _peaceful _year with Ron and Hermione, a few good Quidditch matches, maybe a little alone time with Cho Chang. I was so sure that this year all the dangerous, stupid, "heroic" stuff would happen to somebody else. I'm rich, I'm famous – more famous than I ever wanted to be. I didn't enter the Tournament, I probably wouldn't have even if I could. Yeah, it sounded cool, but I was never _serious _about it!_

_ Now Ron and I are in a row, half the school thinks I'm desperate for attention and the other half still probably thinks I'm the heir of bloody Slytherin. I can't play Quidditch, my best mate won't speak to me, and my neck is on the line as usual._

_ And I bet Cho hates me now._

- _Harry_

* * *

"_Harry Potter_."

Dumbledore's voice echoed in the suddenly hushed hall. Everyone looked at Harry, who was frozen in his seat, some with curiosity, some with accusations.

Ari glanced over from where she was seated at the Ravenclaw table. She forced herself to stay calm, focusing on what was happening. She watched closely as Potter– she recognized him from a couple classes– made his way shakily behind the High Table to the doorway her sister and the other two Champions had disappeared into.

As soon as he disappeared as well from sight, frantic whispering and murmurs broke out in the dining hall. Dumbledore himself left the podium, accompanied by Crouch and Bagman, no doubt to question how an underage Gryffindor got himself proclaimed as the fourth Champion. She noted that a few professors followed quickly after– Snape, McGonnagal, and Moody.

"…wants more fame, just like always…"

"…no, just in it for the Galleons…"

"…always knew he was attention-seeking…"

"…remember second year?"

"…yeah, because _Harry Potter_ always gets special treatment…"

"…probably just wants to show off and be a _hero_ again…"

She caught snatches of the frenzied conversations around her. Why all the comments about being attention-seeking? He'd never really stuck out in her mind, but she hadn't been here half a month. And that incident in his second year… _I'll have to look into that._

Ari paused and bit her lip. Something felt slightly strange about the whole thing. Potter seemed competent enough in Defence, but she had enough classes with the Gryffindors to know he was mediocre in a few other areas, and downright hapless in Potions (everyone saw Granger's frenzied attempts to salvage her friends' grades every class). Dumbledore was... well, Dumbledore. Even if Potter was sharper than anyone gave him credit for, it took a real leap of logic to believe he crossed that age line without help. Plus he looked absolutely stunned when Dumbledore called his name out, and not a little terrified - like a deer in headlights facing imminent death. He'd immediately turned to his friends, the red-head drooling over Fleur, and the bushy-haired girl she'd torn into during Potions, fixing them with a pleading expression.

But all the other champions had been exultant, proud. So... Either he was playing a part, underselling his abilities, or he had an accomplice. Ari frowned. She hadn't paid as much attention to him as she might have, but he seemed far to transparent to be the former. _Or_, she realized with a start, _he didn't put his name in at all._

She paused. But why? Everyone wanted to be in the Tournament, and Potter could have paid someone to fix the Choosing for him. The Potters were an old, powerful family, he could afford it. Or even just promise someone older a cut of the prize money.

But even if they were old enough to cross the age line... The person in question would have to be incredibly knowledgeable to fool the Goblet into picking a fourth champion – she couldn't even begin to think of anything that would bamboozle an artefact that powerful. Money could be a good motivator, and she could think of no reason to put "Harry Potter" into the Goblet of Fire -

She blinked. _Unless someone wants Potter dead._

Ari looked over at the door leading to the antechamber. Harry Potter was a fairly recognizable name, even across the Channel. It was a memorable story after all – baby slays that bad guy. Apparently, a killing curse had rebounded off him and offed the leader of the so-called "Death Eaters." She drummed her fingers on the table, trying to remember what she'd read about it. A blood-purity gang who'd terrorized the mundane-born about fifteen years back. The ICW had been assured it was a thoroughly manageable affair, though it turned out some big names had been involved. Her eyes glanced around the Hall. Someone nursing a grudge? Blood Feuds were rare in Albion, but they destroyed Great Houses once they began. Still... what student could screw with the Goblet? She shook her head. Potter _must _have hired someone.

But there was still that nagging thought... _Well, I'll just have to look into it myself,_ she decided. It was a, well, _roundabout _way to kill a kid but – he was a fourth year. If someone wanted to watch him die, there was a pretty good chance they'd get their wish.

Unknown to her, the people gathered in the antechamber were coming to exactly that conclusion.

* * *

The door creaked open and a scrawny boy with glasses walked in.

"Are they asking for us?" Fleur asked.

He just shook his head, standing wordlessly on the stair. "I, I'm…"

The door slammed shut behind him. Dumbledore swept furiously into the room, followed by two arguing headmasters.

"… absolutely ridiculous, there is no precedent for – " Karkaroff was saying.

"Now, now, let's all try to remain calm, there's – " A chubby wizard in yellow and black stripes appealed.

Karkaroff rounded on him. "Calm? Mr. Bagman, this is an affront to – "

" – demand the Choosing be redone, this cannot-" Maxine yelled, drowning him out.

"Enough!"

All eyes in the room snapped to Dumbledore. "A fourth Champion has been selected," he said slowly. "Harry Potter of Hogwarts School."

The dark haired boy shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I never – "

"What?" The incredulous words slipped of Fleur's tongue before she had the chance to rethink them. "This _little _boy will be competing with us?"

The boy started. "Hey, I'm – "

She snorted derisively. "He's going to be slaughtered," she announced tartly.

"Headmaster, surely you can't expect Mr. Potter to compete," an stern-looking old witch began.

Dumbledore ignored her. "Harry. _Did you enter the Triwizard Tournament?_"

"No, I never – "

"Well, of course. He's not going to _confess_," Karkaroff scoffed. "But his name was selected and – "

"Do you really think," a grizzled man said from the corner, "that a fourth year could bewitch the Goblet into taking a fourth Champion?"

"No," Maxine answered slowly. "Professor Moody is correct - that would take a _far_ more powerful wizard…" She trailed off, eying Dumbledore suspiciously.

"Maxine, surely you don't think I would endanger a student of mine for – "

"Who else?" Karkaroff sneered. "What motive would anyone have to enter this _boy_?"

Potter spoke up. "Look, I don't even want to be in this. I didn't put my name in the Goblet - I'll be happy to drop out, really. Can't I just quit?"

"I'm afraid, Mr. Potter," Barty Crouch said, rubbing his temples, "that we don't know what the effects of that would be. The rules are clear: anyone chosen is magically bound to complete the Tournament to the best of their abilities."

"And what happens if I decide not to?" Potter asked angrily.

"You die."

Harry drew a breath. "But I didn't actually enter. So the rules shouldn't apply to me, right?" he said with a slight hint of desperation.

Fleur heard Moody's leg, _tap-drag, tap-drag,_ as he stumped across the floor. His electric blue eye stared directly in Harry's bottle greens.

"I wouldn't take that risk if I were you," he said bluntly.

The boy nodded, struggling to keep his composure. "So… what do I need to do?"

* * *

Harry stalked through the corridor, doggedly ignoring the glares, whispers, and surreptitious looks. Hermione hurried along beside him, lugging her bag and shooting him a worried glance and other students a glare from time to time.

_I never asked to be in this bloody Tournament. Do these people honestly thing I _enjoy _risking my neck every year?_

"Potter," a cool voice called from behind him.

He whirled.

The Beauxbatons girl that was in some of his classes– the one whose sister was Champion– stood there, staring calmly at him. She saw his hand tightening on his wand, but she only seemed amused.

"Relax Potter, I'm not going to curse you."

Harry slipped his hand out but remained cautious. "What do you want?" He asked, half-defensive and half-curious.

"A chat," She inclined her head towards a slightly sheltered alcove around the corner. "Care to talk?" His eyes narrowed slightly and she sighed. "I told you to relax, Potter. I'm not about to lure you into a trap. I just thought, considering the current situation, you might like to talk without about a hundred other ears listening in."

She turned the corner and waited, raising her eyebrows. "Merlin, you're more paranoid than me. Look, Granger can come too, if you want."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked as puzzled as he did. He hesitated, then nodded and stepped into the alcove. What reason would she have had to lie to him? Hermione followed.

"So...err..." Suddenly, Harry felt quite sheepish, confronted with the girl's cool grey eyes. "What was your name again? I'm sorry, I don't quite remember."

She rolled her eyes, but held out her hand. "Ariane Delacour, as I vividly remember telling the two of you in Potions."

He shook it. "Harry Potter."

Delacour smiled wryly, "That I'm aware of, Potter. As is everyone else in the castle."

Hermione fixed her with a glare. "Why are you here, anyway?"

The French girl shrugged. "Curiosity, I suppose. Tell me, did you put your name in the Goblet?"

Harry reddened. "Look, if you're here to accuse me," he began heatedly.

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "This is the third time in the last five minutes I've told you to relax, Potter. I'm not here to waste both my time and yours by repeating accusations we've both already heard."

He scowled. "Not that you'll actually listen, but I _never put my name in, as I've told a hund_-"

Delacour shrugged carelessly. "Okay."

"And if you think you-," He blinked in shock. "Umm...what?"

She fixed him with a sardonic grin. "Really Potter, you think you'd listen a little closer when _someone_ in this castle 'actually listens.' Let me make myself clearer," she said slowly, as though talking to a child. "I. Believe. You."

"Really? I... wow. Look," he said awkwardly. "Thanks, really. It – I really appreciate this, Delacour. But... isn't your sister Champion? Should you really be, uh, supporting me?"

The corner of her mouth twisted. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. Fleur could take you blindfolded, and you'd probably like it too." She gave him a mischievous grin. "Anyway, you looked too dumbstruck at the feast to have put your name in yourself. Besides," she added dryly, "You're not smart enough to trick Dumbledore or the Goblet and you're definitely not deceptive enough to fool everyone else."

Harry flushed with embarrassment. "Moody reckons it was just a basic Confundus charm. Still... Delacour, thanks," he said earnestly, "You're, er, really not a bad sort."

She eyed his expression for a moment before answering. "See if you think that a month from now. Hey, Granger, we're going to be late for Runes. I'll see you in Potions, Potter."

"It's Harry."

"What?"

"Call me Harry. It's really only ponces like Malfoy who call me Potter."

She paused then smiled again, only this time there was a tint of warmth to it. "Well then, Harry, I believe you should call me Ariane."

He grinned brightly. "Then I'll see you around, Ariane."

As she strode away, Hermione turned on Harry. "Harry, you're not _really _going to trust her are you? Her sister's the Champion, for God's sake!"

"Well, yeah, but..." Harry squirmed under his friend's imperious gaze. "The whole point of the Tournament is meeting people from other schools, right? Haven't you talked to anyone?"

She flushed suddenly, not answering. Harry ignored her and continued, "Really, she seemed nice enough. More faith in me than even bloody Ron does, that's got to count for something."

"Oh, Harry, I know Ron's being a prat but really, don't you see how calculating she is? It's in her eyes. And, God, she was so _condescending._"

"Really? I thought they were rather nice eyes," he said absently. "Grey, a lot like – aren't you getting late for Runes?"

Hermione checked her timetable and whitened.

"Run," he suggested with a small laugh.

* * *

"Around here, you think?" Fleur said, daintily toeing a line in the grass.

Ari nodded. "Probably. That's where I saw them walking."

"Hmmm…." Fleur ran her wand through the air, casting basic detection spells. "You know, they may have just been taking a walk."

"In _here?_" Ari waved her hand at the towering trees. "I'm told the Forest is populated by werewolves." She shuddered, tightening her grip on her wand. "And Madame was being particularly loud. That's probably as much of a hint as she could give you."

Her sister frowned. "All the basic patterns came up negative."

"Did you really expect them to be _that_ sloppy?"

"No, unfortunately," Fleur sighed. "We need to try something more specialized."

"What do you think they used?" Ari asked.

"An anti-detection ward? Along with Notice-Me-Not charms and an area-effect concealing illusion."

"Muffling charms as well," Ari added. Fleur nodded absentmindedly, taking out her wand and waved it in an intricate movement, muttering a few phrases under her breath as she paced up and down near where they thought the ward lines might be.

"I talked to Potter today," Ari said, offhand. "He seems to think it would only take a Confundus Charm to screw with the Goblet. I looked it up, it might work, but it would take real power – way beyond any fourth year I know."

"Why would he tell you that?"

"I told him I believed him about not cheating his way into the Tournament."

Fleur was studying the space between two trees. "Do you?" she asked absently.

Her sister shrugged. "Maybe. I'm curious, anyway, and this seemed like a good way to find out. Besides, I'm scouting out your competition."

"Well, what've you learned?"

"There's a girl, Granger, who's always with him, but doesn't like me. Then again, I was... rather harsh the first time we met, so it's not like she doesn't have cause. And I thought he was really tight with a redhead, one of your fan-club, but I haven't seen him around lately, so maybe I was wrong. That, or they had a falling out."

"All of which will be _incredibly _helpful in a duel, _Merle_."

Ari shrugged again. "As though you'd need inside information to best him in a fight. Just switch on the charm and watch him melt. Really, Harry's only a fourth year – he's going to be thrashed enough without my help."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Have it your way, but we'd better start digging up info on Krum and Diggory. They've both got the full seven years, you're the one who keeps warning me not to depend on the Allure." She narrowed her eyes, staring at what seemed like empty air.

"Found it," she breathed. Her wand tip tapped the air, revealing a shimmer. Fleur studied it, head cocked, as it started to fade.

"The illusion charms are actually pretty shoddy," she snorted. "Look - there's a glimmer here – faint, but you can find it if you're paying attention. More if you put pressure on it. Whoever cast this, and it seems there were a few, are good enough but hardly the best. Probably warders-in-training, or Merlin forbid, _amateurs_."

Ari smiled wanly. "Well, places like this, with millennia of Wild Magic running through the wood and soaking into the ground... It'd be hard to hold a ward, even over a small area. Someone like Dumbledore could put wards here, or a really good Wards Master. But even then, the Forbidden Forest is the biggest Weirwood in Albion – wards would be corrupted before too long. Besides, not everyone is as talented as you, _cherie_." Her sister smiled and resumed prodding with her wand, muttering more diagnostic spells and occasionally drawing a glowing rune in the air.

"They could have hired a team from Gringotts," she continued. "But why go through the expense, when it's going to collapse soon anyway? Besides, there're only a few at Beauxbatons who can break a decent ward, and I sincerely doubt Hogwarts is any better. From what I can tell, they spend an even more inordinate amount of time on theory than us; they've never practiced any ward breaking. There can't be more than two or three kids here able to break _anything._"

Fleur paused, looking up and smirked. "Well, _Merle_, there's always us."

Ari rolled her eyes. "There's _you_, _cherie_. I might be able to open up a good-sized hole, but I'm really just here for backup." She glanced around warily. "Now hurry, before someone finds us."

* * *

Fleur laid her notes on the grass. The breaking scheme was more complex than she'd anticipated, but she'd puzzled it out eventually. She closed her eyes, mentally reviewed the necessary runes, and began to chant.

She placed the tip of her wand on the ward's edge as it glowed a brilliant white. Fluidly, she traced a series of flashing, interconnecting runes, sparks sinking into the glimmering barrier.

"_Ehswaz_," Fleur commanded.

Hearing her cue, Ari raised her wand and sent burning runes shooting into the wards, a cauterized imprint lingering in the air.

As Fleur continued to chant, the wards began to grow brighter and then flashed, the illusion and concealment charms disappearing as a section of the wards materialized, a shimmering, translucent blue, before vanishing.

Fleur shot Ari a smug grin. Her sister answered with a small smile "Yes, _cherie_, you're fabulous. Now, shall we? There's not a chance no one saw that."

They stepped through the broken wards – and froze. A red-haired, broad-shouldered wizard stood in front of them with a suspicious glare and a wand pointed straight at Fleur.

He advanced slowly, wand tip trained on her chest.

"I'm giving you exactly three seconds to tell me who the bloody hell you are and how you got here."

* * *

A/N: Yay, an update! ^.^ It's summer and so, Echo and I have been working on Blackbird more often. This chapter (unbelievably) went through 8 edits. Hope you all enjoy! If you liked it, please leave a review. It'd make us (and our lovely beta, Hannah) very very happy people.

~Echo + Kibou


	7. Chapter 6: Time to Play

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated productions belong to JKR.

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Time To Play**

* * *

_This isn't as easy as I expected. I was so sure I could just walk in here, drop my name in the Goblet, and everything would work the way I wanted it to. I mean, they always, do. I'm Fleur Delacour_ – _nothing goes over my head, nothing gets in my way, nothing stops me. _

_ Right?_

_- Fleur_

* * *

"Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons Champion. This is my sister, Ariane Delacour." She paused and shot the wizard a disdainful look. "And who might you be?" Her voice was calmly composed, but her eyes were darting frantically across the clearing.

"Charlie Weasley, dragon trainer." He answered shortly. "And how–,"

Fleur cut in coolly. "Well, Mr. Weasley, would be so kind as to remove your wand from our faces? Or is this how Hogwarts treats its guests?"

Weasley reddened, but refused to lower his wand. "No, this is how Hogwarts treats _trespassers_. You have no right to be here, Miss Delacour – in fact, it's expressly forbidden."

She snorted and tossed her hair back. "This is clearly related to the Tournament. That makes it my business."

"Whatever's here is private and of no concern to you. The Task is supposed to be kept secret, so this break-in of yours is against the rules."

"Please, Mr. Weasley." Fleur rolled her eyes. "Have I dropped dead yet? _Non_. Therefore, this is perfectly legal. Whoever designed the Tournament, they clearly approved of the Champions taking initiative, and especially when the hosting school cannot even hire a few competent warders."

Charlie flushed. "The wards are perfectly fine. If you hadn't come along and–,"

"Middling." Fleur made a dismissive gesture. "The central matrix is passable but the perimeter lines were not carefully considered, which gave your wards several weak points, one of which I exploited. The Muffling charms were also passable, but the illusion and concealment ones were terribly substandard. There are many very obvious glimmers around the weakened perimeter and although it was a clever idea to utilize a modified area-effect illusion and anchor it by point with the central matrix using Egyptian runes, the execution was…_amateurish_."

She turned to Ari, who had been standing by quietly and hiding a smirk. "The foreign runes were a nice touch though, weren't they, _Merle_? And here I thought the Brits only ever used Celtic and Gaelic ones. They could've even been called complex."

Ari grinned, seeing Weasley's face redden, but her eyes were fixed on the ground. Still, she had to give him points for not swooning at her sister's feet.

"Fleur," she breathed, eyes widening. "Dragons."

Fleur broke of her staring contest with Weasley, eyes swinging to her sister.

Weasley started. "What dragons?" he tried to bluff.

Ari looked up and fixed him with a withering look. "You did just tell us you were a dragon trainer, after all. As far as I know, the nearest dragon range is in Wales." she paused, cocking her head to one side. "And what would you be doing all the way here in Scotland unless the First Task is going to involve dragons?"

"Visiting my siblings." He offered calmly.

"You must have some terrifying siblings, if you visit them from behind layers of concealment charms." Ari commented dryly. Her eyes were fixed on the ground behind him. "And unless your siblings have paws four feet across…"

Charlie glanced behind him and swore, seeing the imprint of scales and talons in the mud. He raised his wand. "Not bad, I'll give you that. But I can't allow you past here."

Fleur sniffed haughtily. "I _am_ a Champion," she announced, waving her hand imperiously. "Now, lead the way."

His eyes widened. "You can't be serious," he answered incredulously. "Look, you're sharp. But when you broke those wards, you might as well have sent up a pack of Fillibusters, they would have attracted less attention. The Handler team will be here in about ninety seconds, followed by a couple of teachers."

She bristled. "Well, if your wandwork is as substandard as the warding, I won't need nine-"

"_Expelliarmus_," a voice said dryly. Fleur's eyes widened in surprise as her wand careened out of her hand. She whirled angrily.

"A Champion so easily disarmed? What _is _Beauxbatons teaching these days?" Severus Snape fixed his wand on her chest. His eyes met Ari's. "Miss Delacour, you will lower that wand immediately, or have it confiscated."

Fleur spoke up angrily. "Since you've cast the first spell, I'm sure she can reasonably plead self-defence. Besides, we're not Hogwarts students, and – "

He held up a hand. "You are both guests in this school and subject to its rules. Moreover," he added, still looking at Ari, "You are deliberately trying to find confidential information regarding the Triwizard Tournament and _you_ are, in fact, registered in a full schedule of Hogwarts classes this term. Now, you may forfeit your wand and allow me to escort the two of you to the Headmaster's office, or I will disarm you forcibly. Do you require any additional clarification?"

Ari fixed him with a defiant scowl, but lowered her wand. She held it out in her palm, keeping her gaze fixed on him.

"_Merle, _don't just – "

"Fleur." Ari shook her head. "Limited choices, here._"_

Snape ignored them. "Mr. Weasley, you'll have to accompany me." He glared at the girls, marching them back towards Hogwarts.

* * *

Madame Maxine rubbed her eyes wearily. She hardly got enough rest as it was, Portkeying back between Beauxbatons and Hogwarts every day, frantically trying to keep everything in order. And now she was being woken up at all hours of the night, regarding some pranks her students had pulled... "Well, Dumbledore?" she asked, exhaustion evident in her voice. "Why are we here?"

There was a rapping on the door. Severus Snape, that odious Potions Professor, pushed open the door, followed by – _Oh, Merlin_.

Snape stalked up to the table at dropped two knotted wands on his Headmaster's desk. Olympe groaned inwardly. Ariane, at least, had the grace to be contrite – or at least to look it. With her head down and her eyes wide, she was the very picture of remorseful humility, but Maxine noted her aim a surreptitious kick to her sister. Fleur attempted, with limited success, to wipe the glower off her face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Karkaroff demanded, shooting a poisonous glare at the Potions Master. Snape ignored him, turning to the Headmaster.

"These two," he said with a sneer, "are responsible for that little light-show on the grounds. The elder Miss Delacour attempted to obtain confidential information regarding the First Task, and her sister was an acc-"

"Surely you're not accusing my students of _cheating_," Maxine interrupted.

Snape fixed her with an irritated glare. "Perhaps you'd like to shed some light on the event, Madame. Precisely why, then, were your students sneaking out of your carriages in the dead of night to break wards surrounding the Forbidden Forest - which they've been explicitly forbidden to enter - in the _exact_ area were the..." He cast a glance back at the girls. "Instruments for the Task are being hidden? Did they simply decide to take a stroll?"

"You mean," spluttered Karkaroff, "these girls have seen the dragons?"

Maxine didn't miss the glance between the two sisters.

"Well, now that you've _announced _it, it hardly matters, does it? In any case, they proceeded to confront and threaten Mr. Weasley, who – "

"_Confront and threaten?_" Fleur said incredulously. "That man shoved a wand at my neck!"

"You, Miss Delacour, are hardly a trustworthy source," Karkaroff answered archly. "Frankly, your conduct has been appalling and shameful. I suggest that you are removed as Beauxbatons Champion and – "

"_Removed?_" Maxine cut in.

"You've no right." Fleur declared, leaping out of her chair.

"Miss Delacour, you will return to your seat – "

A loud crack echoed through the air, drowning out the raised voices. "Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said mildly. "We haven't heard your side of the story." He nodded to the gangly redhead who'd been lingering apprehensively by the door.

He stepped forward, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "The girls were able to bring down a fairly advanced set of wards, but they were only able to do it by hurling the right runes at it till it broke. They didn't have the knowledge or ability to break wards with any finesse, or at the very least, without attracting half the schools attention."

Albus nodded. "Yes, several of us were woken by the disturbance. Continue."

"Well, like I said, they were pretty conspicuous. I was the closest Trainer on patrol, so I ran to meet them. I asked them for their names, and er, the blonde Miss Delacour said that since she hadn't died yet, what she was doing must be within the rules. The other one saw a dragon print in the dirt and deduced that dragons must be in the First Task. That, and er, I let it slip that I was a dragon trainer. They demanded I take them to the dragons, but I refused, of course."

Fleur's scowl deepened.

"That was when Professor Snape arrived. He disarmed, er, Fleur, but that gave her sister the chance to pull out her wand. She pointed it at him, but when he threatened to confiscate it, she handed it over."

"So," Madame Maxine said, seizing on a new point, "my students never threatened to harm you."

"When I disarmed her," Snape answered, "she had clearly been reaching for her wand. Her sister also drew hers, and only surrendered it when she realized she was outnumbered."

Albus sighed. "I don't suppose there's anything to be said in your defence, Miss Delacour."

Ariane raised her eyes. "We're both very sorry for our conduct, sir. But actually, I have a question. Exactly what rules have we broken?"

Maxine's blinked. The Delacour girls were always audacious, but to say _this..._

The Headmaster's eyes darkened. "The two of you are clearly in violation of the Tournament rules. Not only have you shown total disregard for the veracity of the competition, you knowingly sought out confidential information. I find that – "

"Now, Albus," Maxine cut in, desperately wishing her students could have been just a little more discreet, "if they had broken any Tournament rules, surely Fleur wouldn't be standing in your office." She prayed silently that Fleur would leave the talking to her Headmistress.

Karkaroff purpled. "Your girl has gained an unfair advantage, Maxine – as I said before, she must be disqualified from the Tournament, or at least from the Task."

"There's no way to quit the Tournament," Ariane said quietly. "Disqualification won't work, even from a single Task. It's a death sentence."

"She's right, Igor," Maxine added. "Anyone who offers their names to the Goblet agrees to see the Tournament through. And, if I remember correctly, there's precedent. Champions have sought out extra information before; it's been regarded as preparation. So long as they do not directly undermine the others..."

Dumbledore leaned back heavily. "Yet that ignores the spirit of the rules... This is meant to be an even competition. I will not allow some students to gain an unfair advantage."

Maxine raised her eyebrows. "And how do you plan to un-ring this bell?"

He frowned. "No, this is done. But the two of you will still be punished."

"On what grounds?" Ari demanded. Maxine frowned... the child was pushing too hard. Better to take the sentence with grace.

"We haven't broken any Tournament rules, and we are not Hogwarts students – "

"But you are Hogwarts guests, and wards. While you reside here, you _are _subject to our rules." Dumbledore looked at her gravely. "Not only were you out of bed after hours, you were in the Forbidden Forest. Both of you will serve a month's detentions."

"A month?" Ari looked horrified. "Surely you don't – " She stopped, seeing Maxine's pointed glare.

Dumbledore continued as though she hadn't spoken. "You will be assisting Professor Snape prepare Potions ingredients, I understand he's always in need of additional help."

Snape's pallid face twisted unpleasantly. "Sir, these girls have shown a complete and utter disregard for the rules, breathtaking arrogance, and only put on a transparent – "

"Severus, that's enough." He addressed the sisters. "I haven't finished. Miss Delacour: if you are found in a similar incident, you will _not _be prohibited from participating in the Tournament – but you _will_ be prohibited from earning points. Do you understand?"

Fleur's eyes widened. "There's nothing in the rules that allows that," she protested. "There's precedent, this is how the Tournament was in the past, you can't do –"

"Miss Delacour," he said coldly. "Within my school, you will not tell me what I can and cannot do. As you may have been informed, this Tournament will not be the way it 'was in the past.' I personally consider detentions and a warning as extraordinarily lenient, so you'd be well advised to accept as gracefully as possible. I'll ask again – do you understand these conditions?"

Fleur's mouth open and closed.

Ari answered quietly. "Yes, sir. Thank you for your time and understanding."

Dumbledore nodded, looking suddenly weary. "Then you may go. Olympe, would you please escort your students to their quarters?"

Maxine rose, gesturing to the girls.

"And Olympe?" she heard Dumbledore add. "You may have given these girls free reign at your institution, but I will not tolerate that here. I do not allow students special privileges or freedoms and I certainly will not allow Miss Delacour to win the Tournament by an unfair advantage."

She turned back coldly. "In the future, I'm sure, you'll find that she won't need it." Maxine stalked out of the room.

* * *

Ari watched apprehensively as Madame Maxine shut the carriage door firmly behind her. The towering women turned silently.

"Well?"

Fleur caught her sister's eye and saw Ari lie two fingers on her waist, their signal for "silence"_._ She pursed her lips.

"What could possibly possess you two to sneak out and _destroy a set of wards?_" Maxine's furious eyes fell on Fleur. "You have endangered your candidacy, and could have gotten yourself disqualified, _killed_!"

"It was your suggestion," Ari answered sulkily. "And she wasn't in any danger. We combed through the rules, we knew it was safe."

"_Suggestion?_ I told you to be watchful, observe the area, see who came and went, make some subtle inquiries – _subtle!_ And you will answer me, Fleur; I know this was your scheme. And, Ariane – you should have known better. How could it not even occur to you that you'd be caught? What the consequences would be?"

"I've let the two of you get away with plenty of things over the years, but _this?_" Maxine rubbed her forehead. "You need to be more careful."

Ari raised her eyes. "We did what we had to, Madame. There are _dragons_ in the first Task, Fleur could be killed – "

"Don't try it, Ariane. Fleur understood the risks when she entered." Maxine looked the blonde girl in the eye. "At least I hope you did. Because you can't talk your way out of the Triwizard Tournament."

* * *

"_Orchideous_," Olivander commanded. A bouquet of snowy white petals sprung from the tip. "Very good, very good. Foreign made, but as good as some of mine," he continued, turning the wand over in his fingers.

Fleur itched to snatch it away. The man was a professional, of course, one of the best in the field, but she hated when anyone touched her wand. She bit her lip, willing him to return it to her.

"Thank you," she said politely, holding out her hand.

"Yes, of course," he answered, handing it back her wand. Fleur wasn't sure if she imagined the knowing glint in his eyes.

As he shambled to Krum, Fleur tried to discreetly wipe his fingerprints off the polished wood. She stopped, distracted, as a reporter strode in, briskly ordering around her cameramen and dictating to a Quick Quotes Quill. Fleur realized her mouth was gaping and shut it promptly. The woman looked like she'd had her wardrobe picked out by a hybrid kneazle-harpy. And then had her hair and makeup done by hyperactive children.

"Who _is _that?" Krum asked, sitting to her left.

"Makeup that garish should be grounds for arrest," she answered, disbelieving.

"This woman is covering the Tournament? Isn't there someone less... sparkly?"

Fleur stifled a laugh, turning to him. "You must be Amadeus's friend."

He gave her a strange look. "Something like that. What did he – "

"Line up, everyone, line up," the reporter announced in a shrill voice. "I'm Rita Skeeter, if any of you don't know me, but," she added with an insipid smile, "I'm sure you all do. Now, let's take a photo, hmmm? Why, Harry, why don't you come sit in front?"

Potter looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I'll be happy to be in the front, Ms. Skeeter," Fleur said, rising smoothly and extending a hand. "Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons Champion."

"Let's do that, Rita, I - " the photographer said, before being cut off.

"Don't be ridiculous, Bozo," Skeeter waved away Fleur's handshake, grabbing Potter's wrist and pulling him to the stool in the front. "No one's paying to see some French dozy, they're paying to see _Harry Potter._"

"Excuse me?" Fleur said furiously.

"Now, dear, just stand next to Viktor Krum, would you?" Skeeter continued, oblivious to the girl's gathering rage.

"I _will _not stand to be ordered around by a glorified gossip columnist! I've read that drivel you call 'news,' _dear._"

Rita pointed her wand at her Quick Quotes Quill. "Well, I see that – "

"I refuse to be interviewed by this woman," Fleur announced tartly. "There are plenty of publications I can go to – _Wizard's Weekly_, _The_ _Enchanter_, _The Parisian Times_. Reputable publications, not tabloids."

"Please, those hardly get any circulation here," Rita laughed. "The _Weekly's _almost out of business, the _Times _is only popular in Gallia, and the _Enchanter _goes far over everyone's head. Some intellectuals order it, everyone else in Britain reads the _Prophet_."

"Then I'm clearly better off speaking to the intellectuals and the Gallians," Fleur retorted. She stormed out the door, slamming it on the way out.

* * *

Ari groaned. "The Tournament hasn't started, and you've already made an enemy?"

"Well, was I supposed to just stand there and take her insults?" Fleur answered, poking a rat brain distastefully with a knife. "What are we supposed to do with these, anyway?"

"_Yes._" Ari answered, flipping through a Potions textbook. "Merlin, Fleur, she's a reporter. And a fairly popular one, apparently. Do you remember the _last _time you made a journalist angry?"

"It wasn't so bad. A few articles on my dates, some unfair remarks about my outfits – "

"She insinuated that you used your _allure_ to trap high society boys. Mama had to shut it down, there was even talk about a libel lawsuit, which, ironically enough..." Ari frowned at the page. "We thought about prosecuting in Albion."

Fleur looked over her shoulder. "Well, we didn't need it in the end. _Merle..._ are we supposed to be _pickling _these brains?"

The door opened. Potter and one of the Weasleys slouched in, sullenly ignoring one another.

"Oh, thank Merlin, it's the help," Fleur murmured.

Ari shook her head, smiling. "Shh... they're _information_. We're meant to be more subtle, right? Well, we can just get everything out of them." She noticed Weasley was already fixated on her sister. "I've already started working on Potter – the redhead's all yours."

"What?" Fleur whispered in protest. "It's not like he has anything useful to tell us."

"He's Potter's best friend, it can't hurt."

"Yes, I can see how close they are," Fleur answered dryly.

Ari's lips twitched. "Just go do it." She waved at Potter, smiling brightly. "Hey, Harry," she called. "Doing Snape's detention?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Snape's a bloody git. You?" He shot the girls a questioning glance.

"We were, er, out of bed after hours. Madame Maxine never minded, but here..."

Harry gave her a rueful smile. "Well, uh, I'm not _too _sorry. I mean – I'm just glad I have someone to help with – what are we doing, anyway?"

She slid the book over to him, opened to the marked page. "Apparently, we're doing penance by pickles. Help me out?" Ari spared Weasley a glance, seeing him drooling over her sister. Maybe Fleur was right about him after all.

"Why'd he give you the detention anyway? Neville and I were paying attention to the Potion, so I didn't hear until the end..." she lied deftly.

He shrugged morosely. "Like I said, he's a bloody git, to everyone but the Slytherins."

"That'd explain a lot. I swear, the sleeping draught Neville and I brewed was _perfect_. I've been doing them for years."

"Yeah, what'd you do to him, anyway?"

"What do you mean?" Ari picked up the chopped brains, making a disgusted face.

"You're kidding."

She scowled. "Look, I didn't do anything to him. I'm as clueless as you."

Harry gave her a tentative smile. "Don't worry about it, Snape's a petty bast – " He cut off suddenly, looking past her to the door. Ari turned her head to see the sallow Professor standing at the doorway to the dungeon. His head dropped and he started chopping rapidly, but Ari saw his lips twitch.

Snape swept in and fixed the pair with a piercing glare. "I thought," he said dangerously, "I should make sure you were working." Fleur sniffed and turned away, but Ari met his contemptuous eyes. He spared her half a glance before turning to Harry. "Did you have something to say, Potter?"

"No, Sir." Potter's even voice did him credit. "Just saying what a pretty blast this was."

"In that case, you can come in tomorrow as well." Snape answered, walking away. "And Weasley, if you get drool into these pickles, you'll have an extra day as well."

Ari saw his Weasley's ears turn red. Fleur leaned over to her sister and whispered, "In that case, he's eligible for an extra week already." Weasley was still staring at her in a vaguely dumbfounded manner.

"Does he usually get students to do this?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. If he can't get someone on detention, he'll give extra credit. Though I don't understand how a Potions grade is worth pickling rat brains."

Ari shrugged. "It's for the NEWT class, I bet. If you leave them for a month, you can use them in a Blood Replenishing Draught."

He gave her a surprised look. "How do you know that?"

"Oh, I like Potions," she answered, her voice carefully offhand.

"Really?" He asked. "Maybe you can study with 'Mione and Ro- 'Mione and me. She's brilliant, but I need all the help I can get."

"I'm sure you're not so bad as that."

"No, really – I'm more hopeless than Neville."

Ari flashed her sister a triumphant smile. "Sure, Harry, I'd be happy to."

* * *

Fleur shoved the paper away in disgust.

Ari was watching her sister carefully, looking for any sign of frayed nerves. "Something irritating you, _cherie_?"

Grabbing a piece of toast, Fleur gestured to the _Prophet_. "Take a look for yourself, _Merle_. I didn't think it was possible, but the newspapers here are even worse than the Gallian ones."

She picked it up, eyes still fixed on Fleur, and scanned the headlines. "Ah."

Fleur took a bite and made a face. "Really, who would want to date someone who looks like one of our lawn hedges on Engorgement charms?"

"That's not really the point, Fleur," Ari said, stirring her tea, "and you know it. I mean, their Wizengamot is debating a resolution to curtail House Elf rights today, the Egyptian and Songhai Empires are escalating troop levels across their borders _again_, and they don't even talk about the bombings in Zion till page _six." _She sighed and took a sip. "How is _this_front page news?"

Fleur shrugged. "You know the media here, they're just tabloids. I hear the mundane ones are just as bad. Do you know the girl?"

"Hardly," Ari answered. "She's in a couple of my classes, but I can't say we're friends."

"Well, she'll get used to it, or at least she'd better. Those hounds will chew her up and spit her out otherwise. Being the best female friend of a national celebrity? She's just _begging _for tabloid gossip."

Ari glanced at her sister and smiled, a touch bitterly. "I suppose you're right, Fleur. But – " Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fleur answered airily, lathering her bread with raspberry jam.

"Care to hazard a guess?"

"The Task?" Fleur flipped idly through the paper. "I still have about an hour." She pushed her slice of toast away. "You know, Hogwarts can't even make its _toast_ right."

"Fleur," Ari said flatly. "You're about to face a dragon."

"I – look, I've got it under control. Really."

Ariane studied her sister for a moment. "No, you don't. Let's go down to the tent."

"No. We've got plenty of time."

"At least eat something. You've been preparing for this for a month, why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"Don't _fret_, _Merle_, you sound like Mama. Really, we've been in difficult spots before and we've always gotten out."

"Fleur," Ari said. "I know you, no matter how calm you pretend to be. You _cannot _walk away from this one, do you understand me? For Merlin's sake, eat something."

"That's easy for you to say_,_" Fleur retorted quietly. "You're not the one about to _face a dragon._" Panic slipped into her voice.

Ari looked around, relieved that the surrounding seats were empty – no one seemed to have overheard. "Remember what Mama always says? Don't show your fear."

Fleur swore. "Hardly the time to be a bloody politician, _Merle_."

"Hey." Ari said softly, laying her hand on her sister's. "I know. But I also know how much time you spent preparing for this. You're _ready,_ all right?"

Fleur picked up a piece of toast and started walking. Ari followed her out onto the grounds and into the Tent. In one corner, 'Deus was speaking to Krum in a low voice; in another, Harry was sitting silently next to Granger.

"We're here," she announced quietly. Diggory stopped pacing, looking at them with wide eyes.

Ludo Bagman bustled in. "Gather round, everyone, gather round..." He proffered a writhing sack, still talking, but Ari tuned him out and focused on Fleur. Her sister closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

"... each will be guarding a golden egg. Your task is to recover the egg in as little time as possible. Now, you must, _must _get the egg, because it contains a vital clue about one of the next tasks. Do you all understand?"

"There's a miniature model of each dragon in this bag. Each of you must reach in and choose the one you will be facing. Ms. Delacour, perhaps you'd do the honours...?"

Fleur drew herself up and reached inside. She winced, then drew out a tiny, green ball of scale and muscle.

"Ah," Bagman said, clearly delighted. "The Welsh Green! Good show, good show."

He moved on to the next Champion as Ari's eyes met Fleur's. She moved to her sister and put her hand on her arm.

"You can do this," she said softly. "I know you can."

Fleur's eyes closed for a moment, then opened a steely cobalt blue. "So do I."

"So you're fine. You're ready for this."

"I'm ready," Fleur gave Ari a feral smile. "It's time to play.

* * *

A/N:

Finally, the exposition is winding up and we can get to the Tournament. Some of it is (obviously) the same, but we're really looking forward to writing in quite a few twists.

Hope you liked the chapter – please R&R. Thanks to everyone who reviewed already, we really appreciate your feedback.

- Echo & Kibou


	8. Chapter 7: All The World's A Game

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated productions belong to JKR.

* * *

**Chapter 7- All the World's A Game**

* * *

_They have dragons down there. Real, live, scaly, fire-breathing dragons. I've seen Norbert before, Harry told me about the task, but that can't compare to actually seeing them. _

_Oh God. What if he can't do the charm right? He barely got it right this morning– he still hasn't gotten that half-quarter flick of the wrist down– he's going to be nervous and his concentration– that pillow only responded about 80% of the time– what if he forgot to unlock the tower window– would the trainers just let the dragon attack him– I knew I should've taught him some defensive jinxes– there was that one I found the other day in _Defensive Magic_–_

_Oh. That was, well, amazing. Harry! I knew you could do it. He still got hurt, I hope he's ok…on another note, I need to look up corporeal illusions in the library. I'm sure Professor Babbling wouldn't object if I did an extra credit project. _

- Hermione

* * *

This wasn't how she'd imagined it. In her mind, all of this played out differently – she would walk out, flash a perfect smile at the adoring crowd, serene and, of course, gorgeous. Or sometimes it was a hostile crowd, but that was alright. By the end, she'd always win them over. She'd stride onto the field, whirling her wand and outwitting her competition in a stunning display of grace, poise, and sheer kickassery. With what she'd prepared? None of them stood a chance.

At least, that's how it was supposed to go.

Now that she was actually facing down the beast? Suddenly, all of her confidence seemed sad, childish. She swallowed, trying to stride – _briskly_, she told herself sharply, don't you dare let your knees waver – into the stadium, hoping no one could see her terror. Fleur clenched her fingers. Ari would have refused to let anyone even suspect she was scared, and even Ari couldn't do what she was going to. She'd gone over this in her head a thousand times before, practiced a smaller version in the carriage with the windows drawn. She could do this. She _could_. No three-ton, scaly, fire-breathing monstrosity was going to keep her from – really, she could do this.

Bagman– that simpering, cheerful imbecile– shouted something from up in the announcement booth, but it didn't register. She couldn't worry about that. The sunlight was blinding, the crowds roar enough to give her a migraine, and she could see Madame's calculated, piercing stare, but she couldn't _afford_ to worry about that now. Focus, she needed to focus. All that mattered was the end of it, the score, the victory, the Cup. And in between there and here was nothing but her fear and the brilliant green dragon at the other end of the stadium. A line from an old fairy tale sprung to mind, unbidden – _it's easy, good Sir. All you have to do is slay the dragon._

It wasn't the largest kind of the different species– thankfully– but it could still kill her. Easily. Well, if an imbecile like Ser Hoel could defeat a Welsh Green, she certainly could.

The dragon stirred.

Fleur ducked behind the nearest pillar. The entire stadium had been remodelled into a rocky terrain, with pillars, boulders, and mounds of rocks, all to make it easy for the Champions to hide. And not die. Shaking her head, Fleur mentally ran through her plan, scanning the arena, picking out key locations.

She breathed deeply, then picked up her wand and etched a glowing rune into the pillar she was leaning against. Sprinting to the next pillar, she etched another rune into its surface. The dragon raised her head, watching her mistrustfully. Fleur watched it warily, sketching a rune into the third pillar, this one charred by the flames of an earlier battle.

Evidently, the Welsh didn't deem her much of a threat. It curled lazily around it's eggs, ignoring her. Fleur realized her breathing had eased. She shook her head, trying to choose another flat surface, drawing a perimeter of runes at her end of the field. Watching the Welsh warily, she slipped behind a rock (_right, like _that's_ going to stop a rampaging dragon)_ and started to chant. Smooth runes slid out of her wand, hovering like liquid smoke in the center of her circle. As she began chanting faster and faster, the runes began to coalesce in the air, whirling and blending together into an amorphous haze.

Fleur paused, and flicked her wand at each of the six pillars she'd etched.

"_Issa."_

"_Mannaz."_

The blot was starting to take form, centering, bubbling, stretching.

"_Nauthise." _

"_Heyboe."_

It was acquiring a greenish tint, rippling through the air as it solidified.

"_Vunyu." _

She gritted her teeth, her wand steady.

"_Eihwaz," _Fleur shouted, as a beam of light careened into her illusion. She watched it's arc, hoping, knowing, but not quite – there was a loud crack.

A fully-formed Welsh male roared into life. Fleur held her wand steady, pointed at the dragon and reached out with her mind. Feeling the shadowy link, she whipped back to watch the real dragon, rising from its nest, steam rolling from its nostrils.

"Dragon, meet Crépin." It was somewhat satisfying to give her ex-boyfriend's name to a scaly, hulking beastie. Or it was, till she realized the Welsh had taken flight, thrashing its wings and barreling straight towards her illusion – and herself.

Fleur's eyes widened and she froze for a fraction of a second, paralyzed by the three tons of snarling muscle about to pounce on her. Then instinct kicked in, and she ran. The Welsh stopped just short of Crépin, hissing and puffing its chest, hoping posturing would scare the male away.

Backing away, Fleur ducked behind a rock. She pointed her wand at her illusory dragon, and whispered a charm. Crépin snarled, issuing a jet of blue-green flame across the field.

That was all it took.

The Welsh roared, charging at the illusion. Spitting fire, it rushed at the male, lashing its claws at Crépin's head. Fleur's wand swept down. Crépin ducked, his skull grazed by a curved incisor, and then tried to launch into the air. The Welsh's tail swung behind the illusion, dashing it to the ground.

Fleur grimaced. "Maybe I should have name the female Fleur," she muttered, picking slowly towards the nest, focused on the battle between the dragons. If she could keep the Welsh occupied long enough to snatch the golden egg, she should make it to the end without a scratch.

She renewed her assault, directing her dragon. Crépin launched at the female, his teeth digging into her shoulder. It snarled, scratching at his wings, tearing open the sinewy, gauzy strips. Fleur gritted her teeth, as the corporeal illusion began to dissolve. Pouring energy into the link, she forced the dragon to stabilize. The dragon's parted, circling each other warily, snorting jets of flame.

The nest was only feet away. She took her eyes of the dragon, sprinting towards the eggs, crouching over them. Sparing a glance for the dragons, she saw the Welsh hissing, but it seemed wounded – blood leaked sluggishly from its shoulder, and its left wing had been brutalized. Fleur arms closed around the golden egg, but as she rose, she stumbled.

The illusion started to fade. Panicked, Fleur whirled around, delving through her link and firming up the dragons borders. She shivered. "_Merde," _she cursed. _The illusion is too large,_ she realized, fear creeping up her spine. _I don't have enough energy to sustain it_. Desperately, she scanned the stadium for an energy source, something, anything to draw on, but all she could see was stone and dirt.

"_Merde,_" she repeated – and ran. The finish line was only halfway across the stadium, and if she could just keep the male dragon till then –

The Welsh pounced. Crépin roared, but Fleur ignored him, trying to dash across the field without being seen. She slipped, and the egg rolled into a hollow. "_Merde, merde, merde," _she muttered, scrambling for it, ignoring her scraped knees. Grabbing the egg, she saw the Welsh biting at Crépins throat, a vicious assault. The link broke, pounding back into her head. She winced, but Crépin dissolved, the male Welsh dissipating into green smoke.

The female stepped back, swishing its tail.

Abandoning subtlety altogether, Fleur started to sprint. The dragon turned, eyes drawn immediately to its nest. It let out an ominous growl. Glancing back over her shoulder, Fleur saw its eyes scan the stadium – and lock onto hers.

It limped into the air, dragging its left wing, but still moving faster than she could. The finish line was so close, just there, she just had to get past that and the dragon trainers would take it down, it was so close –

The dragon spat a plume fire towards her. Pivoting, she conjured up a shield, buckling under her guard. The shield wavered, but the dragon broke of the flame. The dragon was closing in, and she turned and ran, trying to duck the hissing jets of fire. She dove to the right, just dodging a spurt of twisting blue. Only feet from the end, she could feel it bearing down on her, it's enormous wings casting pitch shadows over her head –

Fleur screamed. A streak of fire caught her sleeve, her arm bursting into flame. She saw a familiar redhead step forward, wand drawn, looking horrified. "Aguamenti," she gasped, "_Aguamenti!"_

She conjured another shield and stumbled backwards, reeling with pain. Fleur collapsed. Her knees gave out as the snarling dragon landed in front of her, and she tumbled, slipping, falling – over a line marked in white.

Someone pulled her out of the way, dragging her back as a team of trainers surged forward. Conjured ropes and grapples dragged the Welsh Green to the ground, its tail nearly clubbing one of them in the ribs. There was a sharp flash; the dragon roared as its wings were pulled flat. Fleur pushed away the arms cradling her and struggled to her feet, dizzy from exhaustion and her sharp spines of pain rushing up her shoulder. She lurched towards the medical tent.

He held out a hand to steady her. "Hey, just let my help you," he said, his voice almost exasperated. "Those burns need treatment right a- "

"I just battled a dragon," Fleur cut in curtly. "I can manage walking."

She glanced back at the Welsh green, muzzled and being herded away, and stumbled. He caught her wrist and steered her into the tent. She folded onto a cot, clutching her arm. A grey-haired harridan started fussing over her, lathering creams onto her arm and clucking about unnecessary dangers. Fleur tuned her out. The poultices and anesthetics worked almost immediately, the racking pain fading to a dull throbbing. Her eyes drooped shut, but she forced them open.

They fixed upon the man who'd helped her up. He was gorgeous, really quite good-looking – and that was a real achievement for a ginger. His hair wasn't _quite_ ginger, more a burnt burgundy, pulled back in a nonchalant tail. Or it was meant to look nonchalant, at least, but Fleur could tell when someone assigned the appropriate value to hair care. Dull, brown eyes were balanced out by a square jaw and a dangling dragonstooth earing.

"Are you a dragon trainer?" she asked, consciously working not to slur her words.

He looked up. "What, me? Nah," he answered, grinning lazily. "I work for Gringotts."

She frowned, sure he was mocking her. "And what would a _banker_ be doing anywhere near the a dragon fighting ring?" Her tone was sharply accusatory.

The man shrugged. "It looked fun."

Fleur's forehead creased, but before she could think of a reply, Ari burst through the tent. The younger girl was pale, but clearly composed. She slowed to a walk, but couldn't resist throwing her arms around her sister.

Wrapping her uninjured arm around Ari, Fleur asked sleepily, "Now, _Merle,_ you weren't worried, were you?"

Ari drew away, casting a suspicious look at the crazy banker. He was watching them, smiling slightly.

"Thank you for helping Fleur," she said stiffly.

"That's what I signed on for." He stood. "Bill Weasley."

"Bill Weasley, banker," Fleur added drily.

He grinned again, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "You're welcome, Ms. Delacour. I'll see myself out," he added, the tent door swishing shut behind him.

* * *

"Crepin?" Ari looked up, a hint of a smile playing around her lips.

Her sister snorted. "It seemed appropriate."

"Very," Ari's eyes drifted to the clock and she sat up straight. "Well, ready to see what the judges thought of dear Crepin?"

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "Oh, absolutely," she said, watching the Potter and a redhead (yet _another _Weasley?) rising to hear the scores. Walking to the judging panel, it dawned on her that she was just as nervous about this as the dragon. _Well, at least this time I have no trouble keeping my posture_.

Ari hung back at the tent entrance, with 'Deus and the redhead. Diggory's girlfriend emerged from the tent to join them, biting the nail of her pinkie.

Crouch was conferring with Bagman – was he _really_ wearing those ridiculous stripes to the Triwizard Tournament? – but he broke off, seeing the champions approaching. Potter glanced at the others nervously, but Fleur looked straight forward, adamant that she'd hold her head high.

"Fleur Delacour," Crouch announced.

Madame was first. She gave her Champion a piercing look before raising her wand. A silvery ribbon shot out of the tip before twisting into the number nine. Dumbledore was impassive as his twisted into a seven. _Sixteen,_ she recorded mentally. Karkaroff, five, that low bastard. Bagman, eight. _Twenty-one. Twenty-nine. That's too low, too low._ She watched Crouch with bated breath. Seven.

Fleur bowed to the audience, smiling graciously, but in her head she was calculating. _Thirty-six. Usually winners are forty and above the first task_. She waved, stepping back as Krum stepped forward. _But champions have won with less. There was one year when Hogwarts got _five _on the first, and they still won. It depends on the judges, it's all relative…_

Krum was next. Six, seven – 10 from Karkaroff? _Bastard,_ she repeated to herself. He came in at 34. He was the only one who hadn't been injured, so his method must not have been particularly elegant…

Diggory's score totaled to thirty. Six points wasn't all that much of a margin, and the burns streaking his face seemed pretty severe too…

But Fleur was ahead. Not by much, but she was first. The only one left was the extra Hogwarts boy, and, frankly, it shocked her he'd gotten past the dragon at all, little as he –

She caught her jaw before it dropped. Forty? What had he done to get _forty_ points?

She walked back with the other champions. Ari led her back into the tent, casually congratulating Potter on his score. Fleur tried not to scowl. Her sister pushed a replenishing draught into her hand, saying something about reporters.

She was beaten – by a _fourth year_? This wasn't how she'd imagined it at all.

* * *

They hung back as the students filed back into school, Fleur's thumb idly running over the locking mechanism.

"Don't open it here," Ari cautioned, glancing around.

"Everyone's back at the castle, _Merle_. Don't – " she stopped, her eyes narrowing. That woman with plastered blond curls and that obnoxious voice was interrogating two students on the pathway. "Ari, that's her."

"Who, Granger?"

"No, not _that _one, the reporter. The one who couldn't bother to spell my name correctly," she answered thinly.

Ari raised her eyebrows, watching Potter arguing with Skeeter. She looked at Fleur's feral grin. "_Cheri,_ it's _really_ a bad idea to make enemies out of reporters."

"Who's making enemies?" Fleur answered brightly. "Let's go do a good deed." She glanced back at her sister. "Come on, Ari, live for a little payback." Ari shook her head, muttering that the anesthetics must have gone to her sister's head.

"That, or the pain," she added, as Fleur dragged her down the path. "You really should be lying down, you – " She stopped as soon as they were in earshot, pulling her wrist out of Fleur's grip and straightening herself. Sighing, she fell in step with her sister's stride. "Well, do try not to _assault_ this one," she whispered.

"I didn't assault anyone!" Fleur whispered back, indignant. "I just scratched him a bit, and he was stalking me. Besides, I'll be polite to this one."

Ari's lips twitched.

Fleur glowered. "I will. I swear."

"Look," Potter was protesting. "I'm not 'desperate to find comfort for a past of heartbreak'. And Hermione and I are just friends, so I - " Two of his friends were with him – the girl with shrubbery for hair looked even more incensed than the dragon.

Skeeter's quick-quote-quill perked up as she stopped interrogating Potter and turned towards the two girls.

"Ms. Skeeter," Fleur announced loftily. "I imagine you'd like an interview. Obviously, we'll want to speak about your recent column."

Skeeter looked annoyed. "I'm sure, dear, but I'm interviewing Harry at the moment, and -"

"You know, as a reporter, you should really wait for your victims to finish their statements," Fleur answered hotly. "You don't seem to know how my last name is spelled, so perhaps that's where the confusion is coming from. D.E.L.A.C.O.U.R. Delacour. Now, that name really ought to mean something to you, but reading your columns, I can only hope – "

Ari took Granger by the arm, pulling her away. Potter and Weasley watched uneasily, but she beckoned them along with her.

"Ari, I need to – " Harry said.

She shook her head. "Look, aren't you some kind of minor celebrity here? You should know by now, it's really just easier not to give them anything to work with."

Granger was nearly in tears of rage. "She called me a 'controlling shrew riding Harry's coattails'! How can the _Prophet _print this kind of rubbish?"

Ari stopped, looking at her oddly. "Look, usually this kind of thing blows over eventually. I mean, you're just getting press because of the Tournament, right? Don't do anything crazy, and they'll get bored and move on to Fleur or Diggory."

"Well, you weren't the one she was writing about. Everyone saw that article," Granger was wringing her hands. "_Everyone_. And they'll all read the next one." Weasley reached out and patted her arm awkwardly.

"Well… you're mundane-born, right?"

She looked at Ari quizzically. "I'm muggle-born, yes."

"Is Skeeter? Mundane-borns are allowed to sue halfies or other mundane-borns under mundane law sometimes. And Albion's libel laws are notoriously loose. There's some special circumstances that have to fit, but I imagine you'll want to look into that."

Granger scowled at her. "Look, _you_ might have the money for a lawsuit," she began defensively.

Ari put up her hands, glancing down the walk. Fleur was walking towards them, looking over-pleased with herself. "They're pricey," Ari said, looking back at Granger. "But maybe just the threat will make her hold off on the worst slurs." She raised her eyebrows at Fleur, who just smiled back.

"Truly, though, Granger? The best thing is to keep a low profile. Leeches like her hook onto someone else after awhile."

Shifting uncomfortably, Granger nodded. Ari tried to smile reassuringly, but she feared it only looked frosty. The sisters broke off, heading towards the Beauxbatons carriages.

"Hey, um, thanks." Granger called.

"Yeah, just don't get used to it," Ari answered, hurrying after Fleur. "So," she asked her sister. "What did you say to her?"

"I just bludgeoned her with the family name," Fleur answered calmly.

"Interesting choice of words," Ari grimaced. "That's not going to work, _Cherie._ It's just going to make her remember you."

"I did say we were doing a good deed. At least I helped. 'Keep a low profile,'" Fleur repeated mockingly. "Once you're in the public eye, you don't get to chose when to leave. You know that as well as I."

"We have no obligation to help them."

Fleur stopped short. "_Merle – _you know what it's like reporters following you day and night, always trying to take a comment out of context or dig up a scandal. You can't really say it wasn't worth a little tangle with a reporter to spare someone that. Really, whatever she's going to print, it's been printed before."

Twisting the key to their carriage, Ari looked back. "Maybe. Or maybe they ought to learn the same lessons we did."

* * *

"Still studying?"

Ari looked up, startled. Blaize Zabini was grinning down at her, broomstick in hand. He leaned down and snatched the Potions book out of her hands.

"It's Saturday, Delacour. Come play Quidditch with us," he demanded.

Ari blinked, shocked for a second. Then she rose slowly, wary eyes trained on Zabini.

"No, thank you," she said stiffly. "We have an exam Tuesday, after all. And at least _I_ can brew a Doxy antidote that doesn't give you hives." As far as she could tell, he was better than most, but last week's testing session had been a disaster for everyone. Snape had fed a poison to a variety of vermin; she and Neville had watched their Hemlock rat die horribly, but they'd saved all the rest. Goyle managed to set one on fire.

Blaise held the book out of reach. He had at least half a foot on her, and Ari wasn't going to humiliate herself and jump for it. Grinning, he wheedled. "You're always on the lawn with a book. You need to have some fun."

Ariane crossed her arms. "Yes, you're right. _Studying? _In a _school_? What was I thinking?"

He laughed, completely undeterred by her sarcasm. "Alright," he said, handing the textbook back. "But I'll get you to come out with us someday." He dashed after Michael Corner, flashing a smile back at the dumbfounded girl.

She sat down, back to a tree, confused. Most Beauxbatons students avoided her – they'd learned to stay away from her scathing, contrary, supercilious firebrand of a sister. Ari was just as frosty, friendships only formed through the niceties of political etiquette. Longbottom, Potter, Granger, and now Zabini – none of them fit familiar patterns.

And she didn't like it.

* * *

Exhausted, Fleur shut the history book, pushing it across the desk. She leaned back and stretched her arms above her heads. The burns had healed. On her nightstand stood a small pot of ointment for the fading scars, which she picked up idly.

Rubbing the pale cream over her shoulder, Fleur glanced at the door to her sister's room. _I should find some way to thank her_, she thought. Pharmacy brands always seemed to irritate her skin; one moisturizer had even covered her arm in little feathers. Ari tailored the potion to her sister's needs.

She flicked her wand at her reading light, extinguishing it. Lying in the darkness, her mind reeled with possible tasks. Any further attempts at espionage could result in expulsion. The Tournament Rules were clear, but Dumbledore would know them in and out by now – he may have found a safe way to exclude her. And if he hadn't, he might try anyway. Maxine couldn't tell her, she was bound by the Cup. Her mother refused to give her forewarning. Fleur could hear her lectures about integrity already.

That left speculation. She'd scoured records, looked for recurring patterns of –

Her door creaked open.

"Ari?" she asked, languid. There were footsteps, but no answer. Fleur sat up in bed, grabbing for her wand. There was a blinding flash, a muttered curse, and a numbness spread over her.

A shadow loomed above as her head sunk into the sheets. Slowly, her eyes closed.

* * *

A/N: Yes, it's been ages since our last chapter. We give up; there's no way to predict when we'll manage to get these out. For what it's worth, the last few months have been crazy for us, but come the New Year, things should settle down at least a little.

In any case, Happy Holidays! In the spirit of Christmastime, be generous and drop a review.

-Echo & Kibou


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